


Blind Man's Gambit

by BlackMajjicDuchess



Series: Shisui's Story [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Battle, Blindness, Boys Will Be Boys, Bromance, Canon Related, Characters won't do what I tell them to, Conspiracy, Curses, Double Life, Doubt, Epic, Espionage, Friendship, Fuinjutsu, Gen, Helpless Author, Hero Worship, Heroism, Implied Relationships...MAYBE? If you look at it all slanty-like?, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loyalty, Masochism, Obsession, POV First Person, Sacrifice, Slave to my writing, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:47:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 47,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackMajjicDuchess/pseuds/BlackMajjicDuchess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is known that Itachi Uchiha was the silent guardian of Konoha, sacrificing everything he held most dear to protect his beloved village and his little brother. It is less well known that he had help. </p><p>My name is Shisui. Itachi was my best friend. My captain. My protector. My hero. No, I'm not--nor have I ever been--dead. He still needed my help, after all, and I was never the type of guy who'd let you down.</p><p>(SEQUEL PLANNED, 100% written... get ready for some.. ahem... 'action')</p><p>This one updates quickly (2-5 days)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Itachi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ishimaru_Asuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishimaru_Asuka/gifts).



> My first Archive of Our Own Exclusive! (every other story so far had been cross posted on fanfiction.net). 
> 
> I wrote this because there has been far too much language that suggests that Shisui may not be dead, and that he was a bit of a badass. Kabuto wanted his corpse, but couldn't find it. Itachi said he "disappeared" and "erased his existence," but not that he died. No one has seen his dead body, and everyone wanted those eyes. 
> 
> I am now absolutely convinced Shisui is alive. I hope he's somewhere in the tropics right now, sipping on fancy cocktails and laughing at the Narutoverse. Instead, I put his ass through hell. Don't worry, though... he gets his reward! ;-) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

_**"There is not a word, yet, for old friends who have just met." --Jim Henson**_

* * *

 

It was a day like any other; sunny, as it often was in Konoha. I was seven. My father was teaching me everything he knew. Even as young as I was, I could read the seriousness in the deep lines of his face. Something was off. I would ask him about it, but he would never tell me. If I asked a serious question, he would lecture me instead. 

“Shisui,” he’d say, “there will come a time when the decision you are forced to make on a daily basis will be the hardest one you’ve ever made. Every new decision will be harder than the last. Where do your loyalties lie?”

The first time he asked me this, I was confused. “Father?”

He’d sigh deeply, and I knew he was disappointed in me somehow. With every sigh, I renewed my promise to make him proud, painting it like a banner across my heart, imprinting it upon my soul. My father was my beacon, as a Shinobi. He represented everything that was good about the ninja world. He had it all: honor, discipline, strength, compassion, loyalty, and wisdom. He regretted my inexperience. I could never learn fast enough to please him, but I did try. Every lecture I committed to memory, even though I knew I’d hear it again. Every lesson in front of that great bass tree, demarcated by every shuriken scar in its bark, I internalized. My goal in life was to be just like him, and instinctively, I knew somehow that I would fail.

“Shisui,” he’d begin patiently, mouth set in a firm line. So serious, my father. His smiles were so rare that I’d made that one of my many goals as well, and each one was a celebration. “Whose happiness is more important than yours?”

It was a weird question, but he was expecting my answer. I blinked, hesitated. “Yours,” I blurted. It seemed so obvious to me. For who, if not my father, was I expected to please?

He clicked his tongue. I’d guessed wrong. The knowledge of it brought me pain. “No, son. Before me comes your Village, and your Clan. Your family is but an extra pillar of strength to help you achieve purpose. Your loyalties are to your Village, and to your Clan, and then your family.”

I nodded, thinking I understood, but his words begged a question that was deeper than even I knew. “But Father… what if I have to choose? Between the Village and my Clan?”

I saw coldness in his eyes that day, and I knew I’d struck a nerve. He didn’t answer right away. His eyes drifted away, as if recalling something in distant days. Something that brought him pain. “That is a choice no man should have to make, Shisui, but if it comes to that, you should choose your Clan.” I read the hurt in his eyes, and it hurt me, too. What would it have been like, to grow up in the shadow of a happy man instead of a torn warrior?

It was one of the questions I’d never have an answer to, but there was one more question that I would have answered. “Why the Clan?” I asked curiously.

“Because, Shisui,” he told me gravely, laying a hand on my small shoulders, “if the Village and the Clan went to war, the Clan will most definitely win, and I would have you live.” He shook my shoulder hard in his vicelike grip on the word ‘live.’ It was important to him, I knew. Small I was, and disappointing, but I was his son, and my mother was gone. My father refused to tell me how she had died, but that she was dead, I was certain. He never was good at talking about his feelings. I could respect that.

That wasn’t the only important revelation that was made that day, though, for it was also the day that I met Itachi.

After my father lessoned me on the loyalties of an Uchiha and I reflected on his words, he bade me continue my shuriken practice. I was abysmal at it. It was the one aspect of being a ninja that I could not seem to grasp. 

Hand to hand combat came naturally to me. I was fast and agile, and I had a perfect understanding on the limits of my body. I knew how long my reach was, and could accurately assess my opponent’s even at five. The Uchiha elders, even Fugaku, had remarked that my grace and agility were inhuman. Mikoto told my father in a hushed voice that I reminded her of the ninja cats her son played with. I can still remember the sound of her pretty laughter.

I wasn’t yet strong enough to awaken my Sharingan, and chakra control was still a little shaky, but my father assured me that this was normal. Most children weren’t able to do much with chakra until they’d matured. He encouraged me to keep trying though, and as he watched, I felt the pride emanating from him like golden waves. 

It was in my shuriken practice, though, that he was most interested. He knew I was good at fighting, and he knew that someday my chakra would take me to a world of wondrous, beautiful, deadly ninjutsu. His Sharingan had been impressive from its outset, and he was confident that mine would not disappoint, either… but the shuriken I threw made his face look stormy and brought out the worst in him. As I missed the mark and the shuriken clattered off the bark as if I’d thrown stones instead of weapons, he’d grow more and more agitated. If it went on too long, he’d strike the backs of my legs with his staff. He’d grit his teeth and growl, “Shisui, focus on your grip. Your _grip_ , Shisui. It should be light, and natural.”

“I know, Father,” I’d whine helplessly. I did know, but when I did as he said, they slipped out of my fingers and fell around my feet. That was truly embarrassing, and several times it had caused my father to stalk away in disgust. So I tried my hardest. I gripped them the way I knew how, but that was when they’d clatter against the bark, having flown wrongly, end over end instead of rotating and cutting the air. I gripped them his way, and I dropped them. I was lost, and I had no way of learning how, until…

 _Thunk!_ One shuriken hit my tree. _Clang!_ One more drove it further into the tree. _Clang! Clang! Clang!_ Five shuriken, thrown in rapid succession, connecting with the tree in the same spot. Exactly the same spot. There was a soft rustle on the opposite side of that tree, and I knew in my bones that the first shuriken had been pushed out the other side and fallen into the grass. Despair gripped me and shook me hard. I’d just been made a fool in front of my father, and all I wanted to do was cry.

But hatred quickly smothered the feeling, and my eyes followed the trajectory of the shuriken in reverse to spy their master. He was taller than me, with a rounder face, and long hair that he kept tied behind his head. He was staring at his handiwork with smiling satisfaction, hand and body stilled in the memory of his final throw. After only a moment more, he turned his head and looked at me, flashed me a self-satisfied grin, and dashed off into the forest the way he had come.

Right away, I despised him. He had made my greatest failure look too easy, shamed me in front of my father, and asserted his dominance in five easy throws of a ninja tool that had become the bane of my existence. I hated him with every fiber of my seven year old being.

 I couldn’t even look at my father. I knew what I’d see there: disappointment. He was ashamed of me, I knew. That other boy, who was so close in age to me as to be insignificant, had far surpassed his son. Any moment now, he’d disown me. Or so I thought.

“Arrogant bastard,” he spat instead, more to himself than me. I looked at him, then, unable to resist the temptation. “I’d chase him down and give him a good spanking if he weren’t Fugaku’s son,” he grumbled. Then his eyes fell upon me, staring at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed. He smiled, then, one of his rarest treasures, and hugged me. “Shisui, you’re doing just fine. It will come with practice. I promise.” 

To my great shame, I did cry then. I had thought I’d lost him, but I hadn’t. Itachi’s blunder had gifted me with one of Father’s smiles.

I hated him even more, for that. I hated him because _he_ had made my father smile, not me.

Once again, I renewed my promise. I redoubled my efforts at shuriken practice, forsaking all other practice entirely. My hand-to-hand combat didn’t need much more polishing. I was already far ahead of people twice my size. My chakra control would come with time. My Sharingan wasn’t even awakened yet. These things could all wait. But shuriken practice was what would please me father.

 And shuriken practice would bring me closer to _him_.

* * *

 

I was nearly nine when I figured it out.

It was getting dark, and surprise, I was getting frustrated. I’d thrown them hundreds of times already. I was tired, and I was angry. How many times had I tried this exactly the same way, expecting different results? Why was I so good at everything except for this? I asked myself all the same questions over and over again, threw the shuriken the same way. As one might expect, this was the perfect recipe for repeated failure. I had learned this lesson so very well.

So, in a desperate fury of anger, I chucked them all, one after another, until all but one was left. I went to throw it, but I stopped. I held it in the palm of my hand and glared at it. All my anger and frustration bubbled up from within, and hot, bitter tears began streaming from my eyes. This tiny, insignificant thing was singlehandedly responsible for my anguish. 

I heard my father’s voice in my head, trying for the millionth time to tell me how to hold it. _Light, and natural_ , he’d said. I’d been holding onto them for dear life, needing each one to find its mark and save me from my father’s shame. It would hit the tree because I willed it so, I had thought, and my will was _strong_. It wasn’t working.

I rolled it between my fingers, feeling its shape in my hands. I tried to get to know it. I memorized its weight in my hands. I pressed the cold metal to my face, trying to feel a deep philosophical connection with the small weapon. This thing had become my religion, and superstitions ruled me. I even licked it, I kid you not, to taste the iron on my tongue.

With the cold still lingering on my face and the taste of iron on my tongue, I wrapped my hand around the shuriken gently. It slid easily between my index finger and my middle finger, the contour between two points fitting as easily as a lock and key. My brows twitched involuntarily. It felt so right, sitting right there, just so. I tapped the point with my thumb and felt liberated. 

I _had_ been holding it wrong, the whole time. Victory washed over me and I felt made anew. I threw it, knowing already that I’d won. The satisfying _thunk_ as iron sunk into wood was merely the fanfare of an outcome already decided. Unable to contain my excitement, I leapt into the air with a vigorous fist pump and shouted wordlessly. I strutted around the clearing like a bird of elaborate plumage, crowing the song of my triumph to an audience of wood and iron.

And Itachi, apparently. I heard his slow clap from a short distance away. I ceased my carousing immediately and my features fell into rage. Itachi was here. By now I knew his name, of course, and I had painted it on my heart as well, next to the promise I’d made my father. In black. He sauntered into view. “What are you doing here?” I demanded, preparing for battle.

“Took you long enough,” he said to me with a smirk.

I was young, then. I didn’t take provocation well. I rushed him, my blood boiling with the thrill of battle. But this, I was good at, and I didn’t intend to be shown up again. Just as he thought I would go for the head on charge, I dipped and weaved to one side. His eyes widened with surprise, but he reacted quickly and dodged the blow I was sure would land, leaping backwards to escape.

 I was impressed that he had reacted so quickly. He _couldn’t_ have known that I would attack him. Nonetheless, my mind was made up. As he backpedaled to get away from me, I spun on my toes and lunged. He was bracing for the onslaught, but I dropped to the ground, rolled sideways around his feet, and finally landed a kick to his backside. He tipped over on the ground in front of me, palms and knees in the dirt.

I dragged myself up, prepared to land a finishing blow. But I wasn’t prepared.

Itachi was laughing, his shoulders shaking with humor as he remained in that position. Then, still chuckling to himself, he pushed himself to his feet. I watched in stunned silence. I’d been in many a sparring match, but no one I had laid out ever got back up laughing. He turned to face me, wiped the dust from his face, still smiling, and struck.

It was all a blur then, but we sparred for what felt like forever. He pushed me back, and I dodged, blocked, and parried. I’d catch my opening and press back, and he’d block, parry, and dodge. It was the same relentless dance, back and forth. At one point, I worried he might be going easy on me, so serene was his expression. Was he mocking me? But then, I saw the sweat begin dripping from his forehead, making trenches through the dirt still caking his face. No, he was trying his hardest, and so, too, was I.

But all good things must come to an end. We flew apart again, both of us in perfect posture, circling. I’m sure my face was the perfect portrait of wrath and determination. Itachi’s was just as passive as ever, the slight smile ever present. Oh, how he infuriated me! My muscles trembled from exertion even as my heart thundered on, adrenaline my only fuel. It was now or never, and I knew I had him. I rushed in for my final assault, and at the last minute spun Hyuuga style on the ball of my foot, swinging my opposite leg behind me in a sweeping arc, kicking sand into his smug, hated face.

His arm flew up to guard from the sand, but it was too late. I brought my body in close to his and landed a spinning double punch to his gut and torso. He flew backward, his back squarely hitting the tree behind him with a loud oomph. The tree shook, dropping leaves upon his head as he sagged forward, defeated.

I’d won, and it was my turn for smug satisfaction.

But Itachi was ever one for surprises. He remained where he was, taking several breaths. He’d had the wind knocked from him, and I was glad. His head began to tilt upward, and I could see he was still smiling. “What’s with you?” I growled, unable to contain my fury any longer. “Why are you always smiling, even when you’ve clearly lost?” I couldn’t understand it. One could not find joy in defeat. Defeat was failure and shame.

“Shisui, Shisui,” he drawled with what seemed like affection. “I think you and I can learn much from each other.”

My hands fell to my side in astonishment. He couldn’t be serious. “The only thing I’m going to learn from you is how to laugh when I lose. How could that be helpful in any way?” My fists clenched with rage. Already I wanted to pound him into the dirt again. Anything to erase that cheeky smile of his.

“If I get up, can you promise not to pummel me again? We should talk.”

Suspicion pricked. “Why should I trust you?” He was defeated, wasn’t he? His muscles were quivering just as viciously as mine, and he didn’t _look_ like he was poised still on the edge of a fight.

He only shrugged without answering. I understood; my consent wasn’t important. Either we would talk or we wouldn’t, but it made no difference to this boy. I had to admit I was curious. Hate him I might, but his skills still surpassed mine, despite his younger age. I might have bested him in our fight, but I hadn’t done so by much. And, rumor had it that he had awakened his Sharingan already, and as any Uchiha could tell you, for that I truly hungered. I wanted what he had. He was confident, brilliant, and strong.

I relaxed my stance and nodded my consent, and the boy that would become my best friend pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, using the tree behind him as support and groaning from the effort.

 “What do you know about our Clan?” he asked me. It was a seemingly small question, but in the arch of his eyebrow and the strained tone of his voice, he was asking me a different question, and one that I knew so very well. My father had asked me where my loyalties lay, and Itachi, in his brilliantly subtle way, was asking me the exact same question.

 

I remembered the deep lines in my father’s wrinkled face, and the guarded responses. The way he never actually answered my questions, but seemed to be trying to tell me something anyway. Preparing me. Honing my skills in anticipation of some arbitrary day that would threaten my life, and I surmised that it somehow involved the Clan, and the Village. He had told me that I should support the Clan to survive. My curiosity was piqued. How much did Itachi know? Where did _his_ loyalties lie?

Something shifted in me, then. I suddenly realized how little I had in common with my father. Where he was guarded and somber, I was impetuous and forthright. I would always love him—he was my father, after all—but in his omissions I knew there was something important that I needed to know, and he was not going to be the man to tell me. I lost my trust in him, and that was good. Today had marked the day that I would begin to think for myself and draw my own conclusions.

Itachi was merely the fulcrum.

 I laughed, but there was no humor in it. We were kids, six and eight years old, but we were Shinobi, too. Within only two years, both of us would be graduated from the academy and fledged, expected to make decisions that held the lives of others in the balance. We were never going to experience childhood. That day, mutual respect and understanding bloomed. We were cut from the same cloth. “Not enough,” I admitted. I held my hand out. He staggered forward on shaking legs and shook it.

He smiled again, but there was no humor there, either. “Let me tell you something about our Clan.”

 


	2. Conspiracy Heroes

_**“Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead. Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.” –Albert Camus** _

* * *

 

I was deeply troubled by what Itachi had told me. If my brand new friend was to be believed, there was a stewing hatred that might lead to rebellion, and the Uchiha were the heart of it. If my new friend was to be believed, both of our fathers were somehow involved in it. That begged the question of how, exactly, our fathers were involved in it. And who did I trust more? Itachi? Or my own father?

It was during this inner turmoil that I returned home. My father took one look at my face and stopped me at the door. “Is something wrong? Did training disappoint?” 

I heard the word he didn’t say. _Again_? I forced a smile. All of my excitement at having hit the tree with the shuriken was dead and gone, but it wouldn’t be so for my father. I had to tell him, and I had to let him see my excitement so he didn’t worry. “No, Father. I did it.” His smile broadened. It was one of the treasures I yearned for, and this time it was because of something that _I_ had done. Normally it would have made me happy, but instead it felt like a dagger in the ribs. “I threw the shuriken right.”

He bent over and hugged me, patting my back and congratulating me on a job well done. “I knew you could do it, Shisui, my son,” he said warmly. “You make me so proud.” His voice was raw with emotion. I had affected him. He was proud of me. I had done well. I knew all of these things, and yet… I could not feel the pride that I thought that I would at having pleased him. 

Nothing would suffice to fill the valley that I had placed between us. Suspicion. Distrust. Betrayal. Who was this man? Was he my father? Or was he some malevolent machination in the war between our loyalties? I had to know, so I asked him the question he had asked me. “Father… where do _your_ loyalties lie?”

He released our hug and rocked back on his feet, eyes darting to and fro, mapping out my expression, regarding me as if for the first time. “Shisui,” he breathed. “Why do you ask?” 

I didn’t want to tell him about Itachi, or our conversation. If Itachi was right and if my father was potentially a criminal, Itachi might be killed for speaking against him. If Itachi was wrong, though… I shrugged, not trusting my child’s tongue to keep mum. 

He searched my face. What was he searching for? Was my devotion suspect? I don’t know what he saw in my face, if anything, but he set his frown into a firm line and he answered. “The Clan, of course. Just as I told you that you must be loyal first to our Clan.” I never thought to question my father’s honor, and so I didn’t even suspect him of lying. Why would he lie to me?

My bones felt like lead. So. Itachi had been correct after all. My father was probably part of this coalition plotting the downfall of the village. He shook me gently, and I realized that he had asked me a question that I hadn’t heard. “Hm?” I prompted.

“Why, Shisui? Why are you asking now?” He was scared, I saw. I didn’t know why.

 My father was a criminal. It opened up the potential for all kinds of terror. A horrifying thought occurred to me then, and I forgot his question. “What happened to Mother?” It was another thing he had never told me, and another thing that might incriminate him.

He was angry now, not scared nor suspicious. His furry brows pursed together and he stood up straight-backed and stiff, frowning down upon me like a storm cloud. “I think not, Shisui,” he boomed. It was a thunderclap, and spoke of finality. He would no longer be pressed for answers. He turned on his heel and stalked away. He would not be telling me about Mother’s death today, nor any other day.

Troubled by Itachi, I had gone to my father. Troubled by my father, I went back to Itachi the following day. I knocked on his door, and schooled my features into the easygoing, relaxed posture of an eight-year-old boy looking for a friend to play with. It was Fugaku who answered, though. “Um, hi,” I said. “Is Itachi here? Can he come out and play?” I craned my neck to try to see around his imposing figure, and I espied my friend in the background. He didn’t acknowledge me, rather tried to appear aloof and uninterested.

“He is,” Fugaku answered carefully, “but he is too busy with his studies.”

  _Studies_? I thought, but didn’t say anything.

“Fugaku,” said Mikoto’s voice from the nearby, and she joined him at the door. “Can’t we let him play this once? I don’t think he has ever had a friend before.” She flashed me a warm smile and laid her hand on her husband’s arm. He looked at her, face impassive. Her smile seemed frozen, as if forced there. Then her eyes hardened. “There will be time enough for the studying later,” she ground out.

I was mildly amused as Fugaku nodded and relented. He was such a stern-looking man, I found it hard to imagine anyone could convince him to do something he was not inclined to do himself. And yet, this woman with a soft touch, frozen smile, and steel-laced voice had done just that. It was intriguing to have witnessed.

But I put that from my mind as Fugaku pushed the door open wider and made a space for his son to escape. Itachi ducked under his arm and joined me outside, unsmiling. “Thank you, Father, Mother,” he said to them with a bow. Mikoto waved, and Fugaku nodded in acknowledgement, but they said nothing. It was the first time I had encountered Itachi’s parents as Itachi’s parents, and it spoke volumes of their relationship.

When we were out of sight, he quickened his pace. “Were you followed?” he whispered, not breaking stride nor turning toward me.

I was so stunned by the off-putting question that I didn’t copy his protocol. I turned toward him as we walked, my expression one of genuine shock. “Followed?” I asked incredulously. He shushed me fiercely and glared, and I saw then that his eyes were different. Red with the birthright of our Clan. I felt jealousy stir in the pit of my stomach like a black worm. And hunger, too. I _wanted_. 

“Be quiet,” he hissed.

“Okay,” I relented, lowering my voice. “But no, I don’t think so.”

He didn’t say anything again, not until we were far outside of the Uchiha compound. Where was he taking me? I thought about asking, but the look on his face was so intense that I decided against it. Decided against talking at all, really, until he said it was okay. We ended up at the hospital. Why there? 

He found us a couple of uncomfortable chairs in the corner of the hospital waiting room and bade me sit. I sat. The room was dark and uninhabited. I glanced around, uncertain. It seemed like an odd place for a meeting. He also seemed to sense the question I had not yet asked, and spoke in a low voice. “We’re at the hospital because no one dares ask why you’re at a hospital. It is viewed as insensitive. And no one here cares why we’re here anyway. They’re too busy being injured or dying, visiting the injured or dying, or caring for the injured or dying.”

I blinked. “Oh.” It made perfect sense. Inwardly, I applauded him. “Itachi… is everything okay?”

He turned those coveted Sharingan my way. “No, Shisui,” he whispered. “Nothing is okay.”

I felt my gut wrench. He had been right about my father, and I found that Itachi was easier to trust than him, too. “What’s wrong?” I asked, unable to resist the drama.

He looked at me and waited, seemingly trying to determine if I was worth telling. Then he set his lips in a firm line and asked with all seriousness, “Shisui, am I your friend?”

It was an unsettling question. Friends just… were. You shouldn’t need to ask, and yet… I remembered his mother’s words at the door. _I don’t think he has ever had a friend before._ And suddenly it all made sense: the shuriken display that had shamed me; The way he was there when I finally hit the tree with my shuriken. I suddenly wondered if he was often there, lurking in the shadows while I practiced. The laughter when I threw him into the dirt, and the exultant thrill as we battled. The suspicions he had had about our Clan… He was asking if he was alone in this, whatever _this_ was. Whatever my answer was, one thing was certain… _I_ was _his_ friend. His _only_ friend.

What’s more, I realized that he was _my_ only friend, too. “Yes,” I said to him honestly. “You’re my best friend.” 

His brow creased. “And there isn’t anyone that… _wants_ me to be your best friend?”

I was still confused. Did he think I was a spy? I mean, I could tell that he was being dodgy, that something had him bothered, but he looked so _hunted_ , and I didn’t understand why. He was skilled, true, but he was also important, practically the Prince of the Uchiha Clan. Was someone trying to kill him or something? “No, Itachi, and I’m not sure what you mean?”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly, composing himself. “Where do your loyalties lie, Shisui?” he asked me quietly, ignoring my question yet again.

The question took me off guard. It seemed that this was a popular topic these days. I had the sneaking suspicion, however, that Itachi wanted a different answer than my father did. I found myself caring more, too, how he would react. I needed to give him my best response. My truest response. The _correct_ response. “With whoever is right,” I finally said. 

“Do you know who that is?” he asked.

I had an idea of who wasn’t, but I didn’t want to say anything. I really wanted to trust him, but we were ninja, and I couldn’t be sure. “Do you?” I asked instead.

He nodded slowly. “I think so.” He didn’t elaborate any further. “Shisui… I think you and I might have a lot in common. We desire peace, and justice. To me, being a Shinobi means to uphold all that is good. Honor, discipline, peace…” he trailed off.

I understood his desires to mirror my own. Ninjas, and still kids, we dreamed of saving the world… of being the hero. “Compassion, wisdom, strength,” I added. He nodded once, agreeing. “Yes, all of those things.” 

“I want to tell you things,” he continued seriously. “Things that could get me killed. Things… that might get _all of us_ killed. Is that okay?”

He was waiting for an answer. I would, over time, come to understand that Itachi was a gentle friend. He would not ask me to carry a burden for him unless I was willing to carry it, and he was not about to burden me unnecessarily until he was certain I would accept it. Sensitive information that could be the death of us all? Did I even _want_ that knowledge? What would I do with it? Would I feel good about turning that down, though, to make him shoulder it all alone? The answer to that question was actually easier. “Tell me everything,” I consented, “and I’ll tell you what I can, too.” Because yes, I did want him to know what I thought about my father. I couldn’t make any sense of it, but maybe he could.

He nodded once again in comprehension, and I could tell that he relaxed. “I overheard my father talking to my mother,” he began. “They were talking about my future. Father intends to set me up as Head of the Clan someday. And… himself as Hokage.” He had dragged the last phrase out, waiting to see if I figured it out on my own.

It was socially unacceptable to eavesdrop on private conversations, I knew. Despite that, eavesdropping was one of the first talents that a good ninja learned. All knowledge was worth having, even knowledge that wasn’t meant for your ears. And anyone will tell you… Itachi was the best. It didn’t even faze me that he had eavesdropped on his parents. I’d have done the same in his place, but my father and I lived alone and there wasn’t much to overhear.

I thought about what he said. Carefully. “Set himself up… as Hokage.” I repeated. “The Hokage picks the new Hokage, so what you’re trying to say is… your father plans on removing the Hokage?” I waited for his nod. It came. I felt the breath being sucked out of my lungs. This was… too awful to imagine. A Shinobi’s duty was to _protect_ the Hokage. To suggest otherwise was akin to blasphemy. “But that means…” 

“Yes,” he agreed. “The Uchiha’s famous hatred that I had told you about earlier is reaching outside of this Clan. I think the Village might be in danger, Shisui.”

I felt numb. I was too young for this. So was he. And yet, we were probably the only uninvolved people in the world who even suspected the dark cloud looming. The weight of responsibility hung cloyingly over our heads. “So, what do we do, Itachi?” I asked him earnestly.

“What do you suggest?” he asked instead. I had tried to let him be the leader, but he would always turn it back on me and insist that we were partners, that we should work through everything together.

I thought about it, but then decided to think out loud instead. “If you were to confront your father…” I let him fill in the blank.

“He would probably punish me for eavesdropping and not even entertain the accusations. He’s a smart man. He knows that no one is going to listen to a little boy with notions of civil war.”

“And if you told someone about what you heard…” I knew the answer to this already.

But he told me anyway. “Then no one would believe a little boy with notions of civil war. The Uchiha Clan has been seemingly loyal for generations. We have a position of respect and responsibility. There’s no reason for the Clan to be in a state of unrest.”

“Right. And if I told my father…” I realized I hadn’t told him my side yet. “Itachi, I think my father might be involved, too, just as you suspected.”

“You think your father is in on it, too?” His eyes widened slightly at the prospect. He sagged. “This rot runs more deeply than I thought, then,” he murmured sadly.

“Yeah, he’s hiding something,” I relinquished. “And he still won’t tell me how my mother died. He gets really mad when I ask.”

He nodded slowly, mulling over my confession. I felt simultaneously thrilled and horrified. Here we were, for all the world like real ninjas, collecting intelligence and conflating opinions, coming up with a plan of action. It was exciting, but at the same time, so very dangerous, and too much for us to have had to handle for as long as we did. 

“Okay,” Itachi said finally. “I think I’ve got it.”

“Yeah?” I felt a glimmer of hope. Itachi was a genius in all ways. If he had a plan, I would gladly follow.

He nodded. “You and I are best friends,” he said. “Everyone must know that. At some point in the future, they will probably try to use one or both of us against the village, and against each other. We have to play along.”

It was a risky plan. Very risky. Itachi and I were precocious students, he more so than I if I was being an honest, and would likely someday be stronger than our parents. “What if they make us fight each other to prove ourselves?” I asked worriedly. I didn’t truly wish to hurt him. At least, not anymore.

“Then we fight,” he answered simply.

“Are you sure?” I felt like I sounded wimpy.

He nodded. “Only… Shisui…” He trailed off again.

I understood. I had seen it on the face of his parents, and it was plain as day on his restrained features, too. He was being pushed too hard, too fast. He couldn’t handle this alone. “Relax, Itachi. We’re in this together.” I clapped a hand on his shoulder and was rewarded with a slow, carefully guarded smile. “No matter what happens, we make the decisions together. And the ultimate goal is the truth, and peace.”

He nodded, slowly, comforted, I hoped. “Peace,” he agreed.

We had made a pact. For better or worse, Itachi and I were a team. And I knew, deep in my soul and despite how much I loved my father… in pursuit of the ideals that my father had taught me, I would kill even him. I knew, too, by the grim determination on my friend’s face, that he was thinking exactly the same thing.


	3. Clandestine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems to me that this chapter title might be rife with hidden meanings. What a crazy random happenstance.

_**“Anybody can sympathise with the sufferings of a friend, but it requires a very fine nature to sympathise with a friend’s success.” –Oscar Wilde** _

* * *

Though I had been home schooling for several years, I started the academy that year. I hated that. Itachi and I had little and less time to spend together, which meant we weren’t doing so well on our goal of truth. The academy bored me. I wasn’t interested in befriending my classmates. I already had a friend. I already had a purpose. And, in my mind, I was already a Shinobi. I had mastered all of the material covered in class, and before long I was moved to the next class. My teacher there passed me up, too. I passed up, and passed up again. It only took me a little longer than it had taken Itachi. At ten, I was a graduate of the academy as well. 

Actually, Itachi was doing quite well. Our less regular sparring matches were making us both stronger. He had mastered the eye techniques of our Clan, and all his other well-honed skills were already surpassing most of his elders. He was attempting stunts that most agreed he shouldn’t, but no one dared tell him no, and his father only encouraged it. Less and less I saw that arrogant smirk of his. More and more I saw the guarded, emotionless mask. He was a Shinobi who poured his heart and soul into everything he did. A Shinobi must never show emotion… and he didn’t.

We had never gotten to play together. Itachi and I had accepted our fate as saviors of the Village. We saw ourselves as quiet, patient superheroes, and every move that we made was for the good of the Village. We honed our skills to be ready. My Sharingan awakened in the midst of one of our sparring matches. I only knew because Itachi remarked on it after. It was less exciting than I had hoped. Now it had just become another useful tool in our crusade. Instead of the boyish joy I once anticipated, now I only had a man’s dissatisfaction that it had come so late and would require so much honing to make useful. After that day, we sparred less. Itachi encouraged me to work on my Sharingan instead. With it, melding chakra seemed to come a lot easier, too, and I began to play with fire, literally. It burns, at first, until you get better at it. 

We paid close attention to the movements of our relatives. My father didn’t seem to be going anywhere suspicious, and I began to doubt my initial assessment of his character. He seemed to me once again to be the man I had hoped he was, and I felt myself relax in his presence once more. That was good; I had missed looking up to my father.

When I came home with the Sharingan, I smiled at him pleasantly, showing them off. He was sitting on the porch, waiting for me. He was well used to my outings with Itachi by now, but I could see, too, that he didn’t like it. I didn’t inquire into the reasons why. I wasn’t going to stop spending time with Itachi no matter what he told me. “Evening, Father,” I greeted him. 

“Shisui,” he acknowledged, inclining his head politely. “Sit with me a while.” He patted the wooden floorboards next to him.

I did as I was told. I was a fully-fledged Shinobi, but I had regained my respect for my father. He was a reserved, war-torn man, and when he chose to spend time with me, I was glad for it. His lessons had shaped me into who I was. I still could not quite trust him—I knew, without a doubt in my mind, that he was hiding something that was important to me, and to the purpose I shared with Itachi—but I knew that his reasons for it were pure. Whatever it was that he was omitting, he had been doing it to protect me.

“Shisui,” he began in his lecturing tone. “It’s time I told you about your mother.”

My blood froze. This was the moment I had been waiting for, and caught off-guard as I was by the sudden statement, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to hear it or not. With this knowledge, there would be no secrets between my father and I. Perhaps I could even trust him with the rest? I quickly quashed that sentiment, though. Itachi and I had promised each other that no one else would know. No one else was to be trusted, not even my father, not even Itachi’s little brother, Sasuke.

“Your mother was a spirited woman, Shisui.” He heaved a great sigh. “I loved her as much as a man could love a woman. Beautiful, inside and out.” His lids sank, obscuring his eyes, but he wasn’t looking at anything in particular. Whatever he was seeing was in the distant past. “But there is a reason, my son, why I never told you about your mother.”

I didn’t move. My heart was pounding and my lungs stung with held breaths. I didn’t want to miss a word of this.

“Several years ago, when the Nine-Tails attacked the Village, it was confirmed that whoever was controlling the beast was wielding the Sharingan.” I nodded dumbly. I had heard that rumor, and shared it with Itachi as soon as I had. “Naturally, the Village had a reason to question the loyalty of the Uchiha Clan. The Uchiha gathered together to decide how to approach that subject. Some of us wanted to hunt down the offender and bring him to justice. Some of us wanted to protect him, because he was family, too, and not one that walked among us. We were curious, you see.

“The talks went on so long that no one ever found him, and he gave us the slip. The Village came to distrust us, and the Uchiha knew they were doomed to be mistrusted for years to come. Perhaps generations.” He looked at me. Really looked at me, struggling to see through his son into my heart of hearts. Whose creature was I? “I’m old, Shisui. Soon I’ll be another dead man in history. Kagami Uchiha, the Second Hokage’s pupil, and it will be your turn to write history. Yours, and Itachi’s. You know I have reservations about that boy. And when I’m done talking, perhaps you will understand why.” I knew why he had said that. He was telling me that even if I _was_ someone else’s spy now, he didn’t care.

He turned away again, and continued his tale. “Konoha suspected us after the attack. Secret meetings started to take place. Dark, vile meetings. Fugaku had fallen victim to the Sharingan’s Curse of Hatred, and had grown to resent the leaders of Konoha who were responsible for our stigma. He and some of his friends were calling for change. Once upon a time, the leader of this Village had been chosen between Senju and Uchiha. Why not again?

“They were dangerous thoughts. Dangerous words. The kinds of words that get a man killed when you say them to the wrong people. Well, your mother and I were brought into the fold. She was in the Cryptanalysis Division, and they thought her position might be useful. My closeness to the Hokage was to be a lever as well. Your mother and I talked about the meeting afterward, in the privacy of our home. We were scared. We had just left an era of war, and we didn’t want to enter another one. You were just a little thing, then.

“Once a brood of traitors spills its secrets to you, you’re either in or you’re dead,” he explained. “And your mother and I wanted out. We agreed that she should report the meeting to the Hokage directly, but before she could…” he paused, the knot in his throat working up and down as he struggled to find the words. “They killed her, Shisui. They cut her down in the street and reported it as a… a training accident. It was Fugaku’s order, to protect the Uchiha Clan.” 

He turned back to me, eyes wide and bright with the sparkle of tears. My father had never been good with feelings. I was glad of it. Seeing my father in tears shredded my heart into pieces. I decided then and there that I never wanted to see it again. “I told you once, to choose the Clan, Shisui because I want you to live. But I’ve watched you push yourself to become a superb Shinobi. I’ve seen glimmers of the man you will become, and I can see in your eyes that you believe in what I believe in. You truly are your father’s son. I have faith in what you will do for Konoha. I know—I _know_ —that you will cleanse the festering wound from within us, and no one will ever be faced with the choice of _Clan_ or _Village_ ever again.” He spat the words, and his fists clenched with fervor.

I felt the weight of his words more heavily than I had felt the weight of my duty that day Itachi had confessed he’d overheard his father’s plans. My purpose was only made more clear. I swallowed the self-doubt and put on a brave face. “Yes, Father. I will do my best.” I didn’t dare tell him about Itachi, or our plans, but even so, I felt that I had his support. “I’m glad you finally told me,” I said after a pause.

He ruffled my hair affectionately and smiled a wan smile. “Shisui, forgive me, but you started hanging around with that Itachi, and I didn’t know if you’d love him more than me. I know firsthand how a friend can lure you in with the honey of glory, then betray you. If I’d have told you then how your mother died, could you have kept it to yourself?” He and I both knew the answer to that. I had had no friends, and although he didn’t know for sure that I had been talking to Itachi, I bet he suspected it. And I _had_ told Itachi everything. My father had been right to exclude me all along, to my shame.

I bit my thumb as I considered his words. “Itachi isn’t like them, Father.” He quirked an eyebrow at me. “He hates fighting, and he loves this Village. Itachi would never betray anyone.”

He frowned most severely. “Boy, when you become a man instead of just a Shinobi, you’ll come to know the limits that can be placed on a man and how far everyone else is willing to stretch him. You want to believe that everyone is good, and that everything will work out. It does not. People die. Your friends will die. You’ll be asked to kill someone you don’t want to kill, betray someone you like, lie with a woman that you don’t, lie, lie lie through your shining good guy teeth… they will take the goodness in you, Shisui,” he whispered harshly, “and they will rip it from your chest and leave you empty inside.”

My eyes widened at the fanaticism. I could see that every word he spoke was true. It’s not that I didn’t expect that the Shinobi world was free from risk, but to hear it spurt forth from the mouth of a man I loved and respected changed my outlook on things. He had opened the window to his true self for the first time and let me see the darkness inside, and I was afraid. Not for him, for he was a man grown, living as best he could with the demons that raged within. I was terrified for me; my father had let his demons come screaming out to show me my future. 

“How did you do it, Father?” I whispered.

He closed his eyes, and a slow smile played on his face. “A true hero… a real Shinobi… is the one who does not care for glory. He is the nameless one, who protects everything good and peaceful from the obscurity of shadows. That is what it means to be a ninja. He will give up everything, chipping away at his own soul and flesh over agonizingly long years to feed the greedy machines of war with his own blood. He will sacrifice his one life for the good of many. No one will remember him. No one will ever know.” He tapped his chest with one finger and smiled sadly. “But I will know.” He jabbed the finger in my direction. “And you.”

His words struck too close to the heart of the matter. _Yes, Father… I am your son indeed._

Itachi’s father was a different story. “He took me into their world,” he confessed to me one day, miserable at having learned the truth. “He showed me their secret meeting place and pointed the traitors out to me.”

“What did you learn?” I begged, hungry for knowledge. This was our biggest breakthrough yet.

“Not much,” he admitted. “Not yet. But…I’m being pushed through the Chuunin exams.” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if it didn’t matter.

But it mattered. My mouth fell open in shock. “The Chuunin exams? Kids our age aren’t even Genin yet!”

His face was carefully schooled. Even after only a few years, I had seen the emotion ironed off his face like it never belonged there in the first place. I made a point of avoiding his house. I didn’t want to have too many personal investments in our cause. Itachi’s little brother was lonely and desperate for friendship, and his parents were too rigid and calculating. I didn’t feel comfortable around them at all, and I didn’t want to give them any reason to suspect me. For the same reason, he avoided my father as well.

“Yes, Shisui. The Chuunin exams. He means to make me an ANBU captain by fourteen.”

I didn’t think it was possible for my mouth to fall open any further. “An ANBU… _fourteen_? _What_?!”

“Shisui,” he warned.

Itachi sometimes switched between resenting his parents for how hard they pushed him and desperately needing their approval. It put him somewhere between feeling like they were killing him and feeling like he was just _one more_ achievement away from granting them parental bliss. I knew it was a sore subject, but this was too far even for him to go. “Itachi, you can’t. It’s not that you’re not strong enough—you are—but we’re too young to go all the way into ANBU.”

“We, is it?” he asked flatly.

I gave him a look. He was far better at controlling his emotions than I was. “You think I’m going to let you go into ANBU alone? Who’s going to watch your back?” I smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re a terrible fighter, you know. How many times have I put you in the dirt?”

He blinked. The answer was a source of personal embarrassment for him, but it was a joke and a secret between us two. The truth was that I laid him flat far more often than he bested me. He had me in every other area of combat, from genjutsu to kunai, but I wrecked him more often than not in taijutsu, and I wasn’t getting any worse. “Very well. But you’re going to need to move faster. You’re still a year behind me.”

I nodded, determined. My conversation with my father had given me an idea. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I’m going to try to intern with Cryptanalysis. On top of my skills, it should make me a shoo-in for ANBU.”

He nodded. “That’s a good idea,” he agreed.

“Don’t get yourself killed before I get there, Itachi, or you’re dead.”

His shoulders hitched in what looked like a soundless laugh. “The only person who can kill me is you, Shisui,” he told me seriously.

It wasn’t arrogance, though it masqueraded as such. Itachi merely spoke the truth. He had surpassed everyone in the Village on every level. It was no fluke that he had graduated the Academy early and been pressed into the Chuunin exams. He was everything that had been expected of him, and more.

There was a difference between Itachi and me, though. My father was my inspiration, and he encouraged me to do my best. Itachi’s father drove him mercilessly. He was a man that could not be satisfied, nor particularly pleased. His mother let his father push him. I found that odd. She had seemed so nice, to me, but Itachi had insisted that his mother was almost worse than his father in a way. Whereas his father would tell him exactly what was expected of him, his mother would merely stare at him in a disapproving way and give him commands phrased as choices; if he chose correctly, nothing happened, but if he chose poorly, she tore into him with the consequences of his choices.

And Sasuke… Sasuke was unknowingly torturing his poor older brother. Itachi never phrased it that way, but I knew. All Sasuke wanted was his older brother. Perfect or not, brilliant or not, ninja or not, Sasuke’s entire world revolved around Itachi. Unfortunately, Itachi’s expectations and his higher calling as the unofficial Guardian of the Leaf Village meant that he was often too busy to play with his younger brother, though he wanted to. He’d never say so, but Sasuke was the center of his universe, too. The reason he’d never say was a practical one: he never wanted anyone to know who was important to him. Itachi, like me, had signed our death warrants already. When we were found out, everyone who ever mattered to us would go down with us, son (or sons) of the Clan Head or no.

When Itachi told me about the Chuunin exams, I wished there was more I could do. There was too much piled up on his shoulders already. I could carry more. “Itachi.”

“Shisui.”

I lay a consoling hand on his shoulder, and his black eyes stared up at mine, untouchable. “It’s okay to take a break once in a while. Your father might argue with you after it, but don’t you wish you had a day off once in a while? You could go play with Sasuke. I think we can manage without you for at least one day.” I tried my best smile, but it never seemed to work on him. In fact, when I tried to help, it only seemed to dampen his mood even further.

He slumped in my grasp. “I appreciate your concern, Shisui, but there’s no time. I’m already late for a Clan meeting and I have the Chuunin exams to consider. And I’m leaving for a mission in a few days, so I have to prepare.” He rose and, without further comment, walked away.

Not for the first time, I wondered at the paths we had taken. Would life have been any easier if we’d have shown zero talent on purpose? If Itachi and I had appeared weak, how would things have changed? And yet, every time my mind wandered down that way of thinking, I dismissed the challenges to my purpose. It was impossible for natural predators like Itachi and I to ignore our talents. Fighting came as easily as breathing. And, even if we truly had been born weak, I couldn’t imagine that life would have been any better. The rebellion was still coming. The Village was still in danger. At least this way, we were poised to do something about it, and getting closer.

With Itachi and I in ANBU, the real fun was sure to be just ahead.

 


	4. To Trade a Pillar for an Archway

_**“Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it’s all over.” --Octavia Butler** _

* * *

 

I wasn’t wrong. Itachi had been promoted to Chuunin after the exams, not that anyone had expected him to fail. Within a few months, he was in ANBU, and I saw even less of him. When I did see him, he seemed a shadow of himself. He was too tired and too stressed to carry on for much longer without snapping. I had the great fortune to be promoted to ANBU straight from the Genin ranks once the cryptology nerds picked me up. I’m told it wasn’t a hard decision. My skills surpassed Genin rank. Much like in Itachi’s case, the exams would have only been a formality to acknowledge the skills we already possessed. Everyone knew why I had asked to become an ANBU, and Itachi and I were always placed on the same team. It was generally believed that Fugaku had requested that, and who knows? Maybe he had. I made a point of speaking to him as little as possible, but he probably believed that I could protect the legacy he was cultivating in his eldest son.

Just before my thirteenth birthday, I lost my father. One night, he left our home to go for a walk. It wasn’t unusual for him. Twice a week on Sundays and Thursdays, my father liked to go for a walk around sunset. He usually returned back to our home just before the colors disappeared from the night sky, relaxed and happy. I had offered to accompany him on his walks before, but he declined, saying that he needed the solitude to reflect and sort his thoughts. I let him, because it made him happy and it gave me my own time to reflect.

I tried not to worry when he didn’t return at the usual time. My father was a kindly man, if stern and stoic. There was always the chance he had come across someone in need of help, or even just that he needed the little bit of extra time to himself. But when the colors disappeared from the sky and the moon rose high overhead, still he had not returned. It was at that point that I began to truly worry. I thought about going after him, but I was not familiar with the paths that he chose for his walks. Locating him would have taken too long, and I might be searching all night after he had already returned home.

Just before midnight, and I was nodding off. That is, until a gentle hand shook my slumped shoulders. “Shisui,” he whispered. Itachi. I blinked at his silhouette against the moon and groaned with sleep. “Shisui,” he whispered harshly, voice breaking. “Do you remember our promise?”

It was so unlike him to show any emotions at all that to hear his breath hitch with restrained tears alerted me that something was terribly wrong. I sat up in the dining room chair that had been my bed this evening and shook the sleep off. “Itachi? What promise?” I wasn’t ready to be awake yet. Then, I remembered the reason for all of this. My father hadn’t returned. “Itachi!” I yelped in alarm. “Have you seen my father? He didn’t come home tonight.”

I wished I could see his face, but was just as glad that I couldn’t. His voice shook. “Your promise, Shisui. Our promise. Do you remember? Whatever it takes on our goal for the truth, and peace?”

My heart sank. I had guessed at where this was going. The pieces all fit. My father hadn’t returned. Itachi, the boy genius, hailed as a natural born killer, in my kitchen in the middle of the night. “Yes,” I croaked, my voice leaden. “I remember, Itachi."

He hauled me to my feet and embraced me, weeping into my shoulder. It was the first time I could recall ever hearing him cry. That close, I smelled the coppery tang of blood, the hot musky scent of sweat, and the stench of cold fear. I knew. He didn’t even have to tell me. “I’m sorry, Shisui,” he mourned. “There wasn’t anything I could do.” He wasn’t apologizing… he was begging for my forgiveness. 

I felt the tears begin to slide down my face, but the grieving would have to come later. I didn’t want Itachi to see me when I cried, or begin to doubt my devotion to our cause. I didn’t want him to think I blamed him for what he had done. “Hey,” I murmured, trying to sound as gentle as I could. “I’m just glad it was you. At least he didn’t suffer. Right?” His response was just to cry harder and hold me tighter. It might have been funny if it weren’t so morbid. One might have thought that _his_ father had died instead of mine.

When at last he quieted, he sat down next to me, hands collected in his lap and eyes carefully trained upon the tabletop. I tried to be strong for us both. “Do you want some tea?” I asked, unsure how to speak to him now. It was awkward. Shinobi weren’t supposed to show emotions, and Itachi had taken that rule more seriously than most. A line had been crossed tonight that wasn’t supposed to exist. I had seen his weakness, and he wasn’t supposed to have one. He must never slip or falter, lest those who thought they held his puppet strings believe he was incapable of fulfilling their purpose for him.

His eyes were fixed on a point far away. My words didn’t even touch him for a few moments. Then, he shook himself and reanimated. Blinked. “No, thank you. I have to go… go make my report,” he croaked. “I just had to…” He never finished the sentence, but we both knew what he meant to say. He had wanted to tell me himself, to beg for my forgiveness, and to see and feel my grief so he could properly punish himself for what he believed was a crime, even if he _was_ just following his orders. I wasn’t going to give him that. He and I both suffered enough without we cause each other even greater pain. If anything, it probably had hurt him more than me to kill my father. I was a ninja’s son; to me it was a given that my father should be killed by another man’s hand. And I _was_ grateful that it had been Itachi’s hand. I had seen Itachi kill a man. He did not like to cause pain. My father would have died swiftly, and likely without ever even knowing he was about to die. That, at least, was a mercy, one that would have been denied by any other killer.

I nodded once, but I doubted he saw it. He was suffering, and there was nothing that I could do about it. “Can I just know why?” I asked, needing the closure.

He shrugged. “My father says your parents didn’t believe in the Clan. He was worried that his influence on you might influence me indirectly.” He smiled, but it was a rictus of rueful pain. “All this…” he held his arms out to indicate his surroundings, “…just to make sure I turn out just as perfect as he wants me to be.” His hands fell to his lap, and his shoulders sagged as if the weight of “all this” had just alighted on his body.

“He was right,” I told him. “A while back my father told me about how my mother was planning on going to the Hokage about the Clan meetings. The only reason my father was spared probably was because they figured they’d scared him into silence.”

He nodded as if it mattered. “I see.”

I lowered my eyes. ”He told me when I was young to follow the Clan no matter what. Then later he told me to do my best to fix the Clan because they were corrupt.”

His shoulders sagged even more. “I see,” he repeated.

Remembering my father’s words bit down on my mind. I was reaching my limit on restraining my grief. Any moment now, I would lose my control and burst into a puddle of tears. “I think you should go,” I told him. “I’m tired, and I need to think about settling his affairs.”

“Yes, you should rest,” he murmured, completely disconnecting from the situation once again. He rose from the chair, and his face transformed into his cold, unfeeling facade. Itachi my friend was sulking in the back of his mind again, and ANBU Itachi was back, complete with flawless breeding and grueling training regimen. “I’ll see you soon, Shisui.”

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. _Any moment now I will lose myself_ , I thought. _Just please, please, please… get out of my house_. Itachi strode straight-backed out of my house. As the front door slid shut with a soft click, the dam on my temper and emotions crumbled. I flung the teapot against the door and brayed my grief to the world. The shattering porcelain and the echo of my cry did little to ease the black hole that was eating my heart whole. I collapsed on the floor, curling up into a tight ball and sobbing my frustration into the floorboards.

My father was gone. My father was dead. My father was killed. My father was murdered. They ordered my father to be murdered. They ordered my father to be murdered by my best friend.

My pillar of strength had been dashed. I was alone.

The cruelty of the Shinobi world was a tangible thing. You could touch the face of a murderer. You could feel the sticky heat of pooling blood. You could hold the handle of a kunai made for killing, or pat the head of the child that was the murderer of the next generation. You could kiss the cold brow of your murdered father while your best friend who murdered him tried to keep a grip on your shoulder and show you that he was sorry.

I didn’t want his apology. I didn’t want his pain. I didn’t want the pathetic look on his face as he continued to try to reach me through my haze of mourning. I didn’t want condolences. Or the Fallen Warrior stipend that the Hokage had signed upon his death to help cover the expenses of burial.

I wanted my father back.

It took me weeks to care again. I was lucky that I wasn’t called out for a mission. I was too numb to care if I lived or died. Itachi left me alone. No one had ever accused him of being stupid, after all. He knew that I’d come back to him in time, and that when I did I’d be ready to be exactly as before. I found him, when I was ready, at the Memorial Stone. He was sitting cross-legged, stiff backed and at attention, staring straight ahead at the Stone. “Oh, get over it already,” I joked.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. His rigid posture relaxed, but he didn’t turn toward me. Minutes passed. I stood behind him, my feet square and arms crossed. He remained where he was seated, legs crossed and eyes forward. Without speaking, we were mentally recalibrating, getting used to the idea of being a secret squad again. From this moment forward, the tragedy of my father’s death was not to be mentioned again, an unspoken agreement.

He stood, dusted himself off, and turned. “Oh, Shisui,” he greeted, as if noticing me for the first time. “You look well.” He smiled.

“Itachi,” I said with a nod. “Good to see you.”

It was over, and we were friends again. We were Shinobi, denied the luxury of feelings. The world didn’t have time for my grief, and the rubble that might come out of an end to our friendship would hurt worse than his death. I _had_ to forgive him because I had no choice, and I _wanted_ to forgive him because _he_ had had no choice.

* * *

 


	5. Orders, and How They are Interpreted

_**“You can always tell a real friend: when you’ve made a fool of yourself he doesn’t feel you’ve done a permanent job.” –Laurence J Peter** _

* * *

 

At thirteen, Itachi became a captain. My captain. We saved each other’s asses in combat more times than either of us cared to count. Itachi was a god, and I was a legend. It was during ANBU that all of my best skills were nurtured and polished. I transformed the Uchiha’s customary Fireball Jutsu into a Dragon Breath Jutsu, which focused the fire into a blast hot enough to melt stone. I developed the Blazing Rain Jutsu, too, which called down sticky gobbets of napalm and could not be washed off. My father would have been proud.

But it was on one particular ANBU mission that I awakened the first of the unique powers of my Sharingan, and it would make me famous. We were sent to retrieve a scroll from an obscure tomb between our Village and the Village Hidden in the Clouds. Rumor had spread fast, and we were reasonably certain that the Cloud Village would be headed toward the prize as well. Our unit was comprised of Itachi and our two teammates, known by their ANBU names as Riyo and Fin. We called Itachi Koori, and I was known as Sato.

When we reached the entrance to what was surely the tomb—it was little more than a stone hole in the ground—Itachi determined that the best course of action was to send one person in and leave the rest outside to guard the entrance. I was the one to go in. Itachi had insisted. Our skills were similar, he explained, so it would be good to have more diversity on the defense contingent. We had worked together often enough, though, that I saw a hidden meaning in his eyes. This scroll was important to us in some way, and only he, as the captain, knew what it contained. I agreed without argument, and so it was I that went down the hidey-hole.

It was dark and cramped inside, and it stank like death and age. It wasn’t very big, though, only a few strides across. More of a burial chamber than an actual tomb, really. I had to rummage around a dusty skeleton for the rolled up parchment that I needed, but I found it. It was nondescript, just a small, rolled up piece of paper that was flaking at the edges. I tucked it into the inner folds of my clothes; if I were to be captured, my pockets would be the first place that they checked.

I had just turned around to head back to the entrance when a sharp, vibrant _pinging_ sound smacked my eardrums. It was the sound of knife striking knife. The enemy was here. I froze, straining my ears. There was no indication of who was winning, just the scuff of boot on grass, the clang of knife on knife, and the soft grunts of men absorbing hits or landing them. I fixed my eyes on the moonlight streaming in from the entrance and sank into the wall. It wasn’t much for cover, but it was better than nothing. With luck, perhaps the enemy would assume that no one was down here. If my team won, I could emerge unscathed. If their team won, though…

I readied a spray of shuriken. If any of them came down here after me, there was bound to be too many for any other weapon to suffice. A spray of shuriken, and then a flurry of taijutsu and a hasty escape. If it came to that. Hopefully it wouldn’t. These quarters were too snug for any type of fighting to really be effective.

The sounds outside had stopped. Someone had emerged as victor. My breath hitched. A moonlit hand thrust its way into the chamber from above. I breathed a sigh of relief as I recognized the hand as Itachi’s. I knew his figure better than I knew my own. I breathed a sigh of relief and grasped the proffered hand. When I was out of the hole, he yanked me in close and whispered in my ear. “There’s no time, Sato. You found the scroll, but were accosted by the enemy as you fled and they stole the scroll. Now go.” He shoved me roughly.

He was my captain, and he was my friend. He had given an order. I ran, but with my Sharingan blazing, my steps felt weird. I was moving too fast, jumping from one point to another without hardly any space in between. The dark world of the deep forest flew past in a black and green blur. Almost as if I was… teleporting? Blood pounded in my ears at the revelation, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing out loud as it sank in that it was true. What a glorious feeling! It was almost like flying! I couldn’t wait to tell Itachi, and I found myself fervently wishing my father were alive to see it, too.

When I was far enough away, I recalled Itachi’s command. The exact phrasing replayed itself in my head, and I concluded that he and I were acting alone in this. He was telling me to conceal the scroll and pretend we had never found it. What we were doing was treason, and he knew that very well, which is why he wanted to make it look like it was stolen. It would have to be convincing. I was ANBU, and these Cloud ninja were their version of the same. It would have to be brutal to be believable. They would have been in a hurry and certain I was dead.

I sucked in a deep breath and mentally stabilized myself. This was going to be one of the hardest things I had ever done, but I was supposed to be stronger than that. Any Shinobi worth your respect will tell you that it’s easy to wound yourself, but they’re all lying. There is no pain more frightening than the kind you must inflict upon yourself.

First, to stage the scene. I scuffed up the area around myself pretty well, tearing up grass, scarring tree bark, and kicking up dirt. I even staged a trip wire and triggered it to make it look like I’d hit the thing. Next, the spray of shuriken I had readied earlier. It might look a little suspicious that my shuriken were the only ones at the scene, but it could just as easily be assumed that mine had been lost on the previous battlefield. No one could claim I wasn’t there. I used a technique Itachi had taught me to make the Shuriken spin a certain way. He used them to curve the trajectory of the shuriken. I threw them, took a few steps… and let all five of them hit me in the gut and chest.

They hit me like a stone wall, and I fell to the ground in agony, all my breath and bravado vanished. I struggled to stay above shock, sucking in huge, slow breaths to calm my system down as wave after wave of pain ebbed and flowed through my veins. I groaned aloud, biting my lip to keep the volume down. It was a struggle to keep from hyperventilating. I fought back the panic with willpower alone.

But I wasn’t done yet. Any fool can survive a spray of shuriken. It just hurts. I buried one of my kunai into my gut, careful to miss anything vital. That hurt thousands of times worse than the shuriken did. I couldn’t stop the yell that left my lips. If any enemy ninja were near by, I was dead for sure. I did pass out then, briefly, as the blackness closed in around me. I blinked in and out of consciousness. I was losing blood quickly. Any more and I _would_ go into shock, willpower or no. But if it was me and I came across this scene, I could see that I had missed my vitals on purpose, and that shuriken wounds were mostly superficial and survivable. This wasn’t enough.

I gritted my teeth and gripped my last kunai.

I vaguely recall waking up again. Itachi was shaking me. “Shisui! Shisui!” I wanted to yell at him for using my name, it was forbidden. He relaxed when he saw me open my eyes. His face was all blurry, but I still saw the shadows off his smile. “Were you _really_ attacked?” His voice seemed so far away, laced with concern.

“No,” I croaked out. I felt warmth trickle down my chest. I was cold, so cold…

“You idiot. I can’t believe you’d be crazy enough to cut your own throat. Where is it?”

The scroll. I tapped my right side, where the scroll was safely smashed up under some athletic wrap. He hastily searched there and extracted it. I had passed out again before I saw what he did with it.

* * *

 

The next time I woke up, I was in the hospital. I don’t know why I expected him to be there, but of course he wasn’t. Itachi was too busy to sit at my bedside while I slept off my near-death experience. There was, however, a pretty little nurse with blonde hair and darling green eyes sitting in a simple chair by my bedside. She reminded me of someone I had once seen, a cute young Uchiha that made me wish to be a man grown, one with more time on his hands and fewer demons in his closet. “Oh! You’re awake!” she chirped, perking right up. She had been knitting, I saw, just a casual obvservation.

“Yeah,” I rasped. My head ached, and I felt stiff and hungover. “I suppose I am.” I rubbed my head tiredly and tried to sit up. It hurt like all the fires of hell. I gasped from the pain and sank back into the hard pillow. 

“Oh! Please don’t try to rise, Shisui, sir. I’ve been instructed to make sure you don’t try to exert yourself or move. If you can promise not to do anything foolish, I also have orders to let Itachi know that you’re awake and can see him now.”

Plenty of Shinobi were fools enough to try to disobey hospital orders. I wasn’t an idiot, though. I had felt my insides try to break apart when my middle bent, and I was in no hurry to try again. I nodded to her weakly. She sighed with relief, smiling brilliantly with perfect teeth, and hurried out of the room. I was grateful for her efficiency, and made a note to tell her supervisor that she had done an excellent job of caring for me. It had nothing to do with how pretty she was, either. It _didn’t._

In short order, Itachi appeared. He looked… tired. “You’re alive,” he stated. I recognized his muted emotions as if he weren’t hiding them at all. He was relieved.

I nodded. “Surprised?” My voice sounded scratchy, even to me. My hand flew to my neck. The scar was puckered and heated. I could feel the stitching, too. I really was a fool, I decided.

“Sometimes I wonder if you and I weren’t created too good for this job,” he slurred wryly. He shut the hospital room door and pulled a chair close to my bedside. “I asked you to stage an attack, not try to kill yourself.” His expression was reproving, but his voice was warm with admiration.

I rolled my eyes. “You think a few cuts and scrapes was going to convince anyone?” We both knew the answer to that.

His lips twitched. “No, that was the reason for my comment. You’re too damned good at this, Shisui. I’m glad you’re my best friend.”

“Likewise. What was on it?” I asked, meaning the scroll.

His mouth twisted into a frown. “Nothing,” he scoffed bitterly. “Or at least nothing that I could tell. You trained with the cryptanalysts.” He pulled the scroll from an inner pocket and pressed it into my hand. “If you come up with anything, let me know, okay?”

“Yeah.” I didn’t know where I could put it upon my person that the nurses wouldn’t find, so I made a slit in my Leaf Village standard headband and slid the paper in between the layers of fabric. Itachi nodded his approval. “What else did I miss? And how long was I out?”

He shrugged. “A lot. And, a few days.”

“Tell me everything,” I urged.

He took a deep breath. “The Clan wants me to use my position spy on the Village.”

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“Don’t be,” he said to me. “I don’t intend to do it. I plan on going straight to the Hokage with it. If I make that first move, I’ll gain the Village’s trust. Sarutobi is a wise man. I’m sure he can think of something.”

I was nodding. Our Hokage was a brilliant Shinobi, and he cared about all of the Village’s inhabitants. He admired the Uchiha. If the Clan elders were unhappy, he’d do his best to accommodate them. “How are we going to make sure they don’t suspect you’ve told him?”

He thought about it. “I’m just going to have to be invaluable enough that they have no choice but to trust me.”

“So you’re going to tell the Clan the Leaf’s secrets?” This was starting to make my head spin.

“Yes,” he said simply. “There is no other way.”

“You think that Sarutobi will be okay with that?”

“He will understand. I’m sure he can tell me what I should tell them to satisfy them. I’ll just have to give him enough to keep it worthwhile.”

“You’re going to spy on both of them?” I squeaked incredulously.

“There is no other way, Shisui!” he complained. “What would _you_ have me do?”

His eyes were pained. He was right, though. There was no other way. To fall out of favor with the Uchiha was a sure way to ensure that their dog was put down. Itachi was far too dangerous to run around unchecked. If he failed them, he would have to be disposed of. He knew far too much. I sighed, suddenly feeling very old. “Do you ever think that maybe they’re right?” I asked, playing Devil’s Advocate.

“Every day,” Itachi admitted. “I run through all the facts every minute of every day, trying to determine if I have missed something. I start to believe that the Uchiha do deserve more than they have, and then I change my mind.”

He fell silent. I had had the same thoughts. “How do you get through this?”

He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. “Our goal was peace. Hatred cannot be assuaged. Even if the Uchiha overthrew the Hokage and killed the ones they thought needed to be killed, the killing would never stop. The hatred would never stop. All that will happen is that they will find someone new to hate, and with an even greater power to wield, the world would be bathed in the blood of innocents.”

He was right again. I wondered if he ever got tired of that. “What do you think is going to happen?” I whispered.

Itachi’s head snapped up, and his blood red eyes captured mine. “The Village or the Clan is going to die,” he grated out unhappily. “We just need to decide which side we’ll be on when the killing starts.”

My mouth went dry. I swallowed. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

I told Itachi all about my new Sharingan technique during our conversation. He didn’t give any sign about whether or not he was excited for me, but I knew he had a lot on his mind. My guess was that he had filed it away as another tool that would eventually have a purpose. My father’s words rang loud and clear in my head, that statement that true heroes hide in the shadows and protect peace. He had meant that for me, but it was more true for Itachi. My friend worked like an architect of the vasculature of Konoha. A minor tweak here, a suggestion there… he was the maestro in the orchestra of peace.

And I? I was not doing nearly enough. All I had done was to sacrifice my father to pay the piper, the price of our friendship. That, and retrieve a measly, useless scroll.

I wondered what would happen if I had tried to talk to the Konoha Council of Elders? I imagined myself talking to Sarutobi, pleading with him to talk to Fugaku and make him see reason.

And my eyes _screamed_ at me to be used, like they were living things with an opinion on the matter. I blinked, hard, at the intrusion, but it was still there. They were stinging, like someone was pinching the eyeballs down. I saw red. It was unlike anything I had ever felt before, but… I had the sense that perhaps talking to the Village Council might do some good. I was struck by the sense that I could convince them to help. I went to Itachi as soon as I was released from the hospital and told him that I thought I could talk to them, but I didn’t tell him why. I had to be sure that what I was planning actually worked before I mentioned it to him. As wound tight as he was, I didn’t want to give him any false hope just to take it away.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

“Please, don’t, Shisui,” he pleaded. “You’ve lost enough in this war already.”

I was angry. We weren’t supposed to mention my father ever again. I was angry because I was sad, and that made me angrier. “Give me something to do!” I shouted at him, fists balled. “You’re on the Konoha Council, the Uchiha Council, and you’re an ANBU Captain! What am I?!”

He blinked, surprised at my outburst. “You’re my friend, Shisui,” he said, as if it should be obvious. “My _best_ and _only_ friend. I need you so that I can do this.”

“ _I_ want to do this. I want to help!” I professed. “I can’t just sit here while you push yourself to death!”

“You do enough,” he told me gently. “You and I made each other stronger. You nearly killed yourself for this. And Kagami—“

“Don’t,” I growled. “Just don’t mention him again. He was a _Shinobi_. And so am I.”

He nodded once. “Very well. I won’t mention him again.” He took a deep breath and released it. “If you want to help, decode that scroll you found. That was Izuna Uchiha’s tomb we raided. The information in that scroll would have to be of critical importance to have been buried with him.”

I sucked in a breath. Izuna was Madara’s little brother. The one that Madara had killed to steal his eyes. And Madara was rumored to have been the one behind the Kyuubi’s attack, even though such a thing was surely impossible. “Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yes. It was my father’s meddling that landed us that mission. He meant to use the scroll for the Council’s bidding. I thought perhaps that we should have it.”

I felt my blood boiling again. _Shisui, find the scroll. Shisui, read the scroll. Shisui, stay out of this._ I was getting sick of this whole thing. Sick of my friend driving himself to exhaustion for the sake of the village and sick of living in his shadow. I wanted to act, to be a part of his world, to hear the secret intrigues of the Uchiha Elders and to have the Hokage’s ear. “Fine,” I snarled.

I was going to do this on my own. The scroll could wait. Besides, Itachi had said it was useless, so it probably was. I stalked away and started making my way toward home. There were supplies I needed. On the way, I was stopped by someone I really didn’t want to talk to: Fugaku Uchiha. “Sir,” I greeted, bowing low enough to be polite.

“Shisui,” Fugaku said with his perpetual frown. “I have a task for you.”

Great, I thought. Then, I reconsidered. If Fugaku was asking me to do something for him, perhaps this was the chance I needed to do something useful. “Anything for the Clan, Sir,” I replied, sweet as honey.

His mouth curved upward in the semblance of a smile. “We need you to keep an eye on Itachi,” he stated. “He’s been under a lot of pressure lately.” Understatement of the year. “We’re worried he might crack and do something… rash.”

I blinked. “You want me to spy on your son?”

He shrugged. “Not spy, exactly. Just follow him and make sure he’s not meeting with anyone he isn’t supposed to, and report to me of his movements and actions if they seem odd.”

In other words… spy. “Yes, Sir,” I responded. “It would be my honor.” I had to fight to keep my excitement from showing. This was the moment that I had been waiting for. I had the trust of the Uchiha Clan. It would mean keeping up the appearance of spying on Itachi, but I knew he would understand. He’d killed my father, after all. Fugaku nodded his thanks and turned to go. “Sir!” I stopped him. He turned. “If there’s anything I can do for you or the Elders, or anyone else in the Clan… just let me know. I’ll be more than happy to help.” I flashed my best smile. He nodded again and smiled, and then he was gone.

* * *

 


	6. Recalibration

_**“It is more shameful to distrust our friends than to be deceived by them.” –Confucius** _

* * *

 

I forgot all about my supplies and my plan. I had a new objective. With laughter in my soul and a skip in my step, I tracked down Itachi again. He was a fantastic Shinobi, but I might as well have been his equal in skill. I found him easily enough and trailed him easily enough. He didn’t go too many places. I remained nearby as he practiced throwing Shuriken and Kunai in patterns and volumes that made my head spin—I had improved greatly at my own weapon throwing skills, but Itachi would always be far ahead of me in that department. It was a fact that I had accepted. As he worked up a good sweat and I nibbled on a packet of rice I’d brought along, I wondered idly why I had never spied on my friend before. 

The answer was easy. I had always trusted Itachi to tell me everything that I needed to know. But suddenly, I wasn’t so sure he _had_ told me everything that I needed to know. In fact, I found it too easy to believe he was trying to handle most of this situation alone to spare me the pain.

It was dark now. I watched from the shadows as he crept up slowly on a small house on the edge of our compound. I knew the one. It belonged to Ayumu, Naori’s daughter. I didn’t know her well, but she was pretty. Very pretty. Blonde, which was rare for an Uchiha, perfect breasts, and a lithe, toned body. Rumor had it that she had turned down being a ninja, though. A shame. I had hoped to have more opportunities to see her around. Sweet girl, laughed a lot.

Why was he here?

I should have known the answer to that, but I was blinding myself apurpose. I thought about Itachi’s flat, emotionless mask and his divorce from human feelings. I remembered watching him separate his mind from his heart and kill. And most of all, I remembered his singular devotion to peace and how much of his energy it sapped.

The fact that he might be here, indulging in something as human as bodily pleasure was just preposterous. And yet… I had to know. Intrigued, I sneaked up to the window and peeked in. No one was in that one. I saw the shadows dancing off of chairs and futons. Kitchen and dining room _. Itachi, you dog!_ I thought, amused, as I made my way around the house. Yep, there he was, kneeling next to an occupied bed. His mask was gone. His face was crinkled with the soft lines of adoration as he brushed the pale hair from her face. His lips moved as he spoke to her. Then, a pale arm emerged from the coverlet and pushed it back. I watched him shed his ninja gear and join her in the bed, and then I looked away.

I wasn’t about to invade his privacy so much as to watch what they did. I knew what it was that men and women did beneath bed sheets. I returned to a sentry position near the front door and waited. I didn’t have much to do, so I thought about my earlier plan and polished the details in my mind. It was a good plan, and I had determined to go through with it, after all.

Itachi’s tryst with Ayumu only made me want to do it more. I felt the familiar pangs of jealousy. I had wanted Ayumu, if only in theory. Itachi already had everything, after all: a family, a position of respect, and an assured future. Why should he get the girl, too?

He didn’t leave for over an hour. By the time he had, I was seething with malcontent. When I stepped in front of him, he didn’t seem surprised. He merely stopped walking and waited. We stared at each other for a long, long time. “Does your father know?” I asked.

“Nobody knows,” he said mildly. “Except now, you.” I should have known. Itachi and I had both endeavored to keep our feelings guarded, and the people that meant anything to us a secret.

“How long?”

“A few weeks,” he answered. He sounded surprisingly sad.

I had to ask. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer. I knew if I waited that he would say so when he was ready. But I waited, and I continued waiting. And then, after what seemed an eternity, I heard a sharp intake of breath, and then a slower exhalation. He sank to the ground in a crumpled heap.

It was the last time I ever saw Itachi cry. My rage fled. I harshly reminded myself of all of the things that I had deliberately forgotten. The family that he had was frayed at the edges: a father that asked too much and a mother that cared too little. His little brother was his everything, and that relationship was the one most often denied. The position of respect he had earned, he had never wanted. He still didn’t want it. I knew he’d give it away if he could. The assured future I had assumed would make him head of the Clan might well just be a throne of bones in a field of corpses, most of them through our design. 

And Ayumu? I realized with a start that she represented everything he could never have, and of all his hurts, that one probably stung with the most poison. He would not be allowed to love, by his own command. If he did, he invited danger into the life of whomever he chose to love, and Itachi was not the kind of guy to allow that. He would rather suffer alone than drag someone down with him.

When he calmed down and the words poured forth, he confirmed everything I had already concluded. “I can’t do this,” he cried as I rubbed his shoulders. “I feel…stretched, in so many directions at once. I can’t please anyone, and I certainly can’t please everyone. We’re running out of time, Shisui, and I’m not any closer to fixing anything than I was when we started.”

“I said I can help,” I pouted. “You used to let me help, and then somewhere along the way you didn’t anymore.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I know you, Itachi, better than anyone. Better than her, too.” He froze, bristling at my mention of her. “You don’t want anyone to get hurt, so you take it all upon yourself. You need to let your friend help you. No one can handle as much stress as you seem to seek out.”

He sighed. It was a dreadful, aching sound, shaking with all of the emotions he denied himself constantly. “You don’t get it,” he said, his clear voice betraying the mess of the situation. “We’re out of time.”

Something in the way he said it alarmed me. “What are you talking about, Itachi

He grasped my hand and squeezed it tight, red eyes glowing with fear in the moonlight. “The Uchiha mean to attack soon. Preparations are being made. And the Leaf Village Council… means to eradicate the Uchiha. Every last one of them.”

I felt numb.

* * *

 

That night was the first and last time I ever had a drink. Father drank sake, but he had always kept a special bottle of some imported orange fire liquor that he had received as a gift on a long ago mission. He never drank it. He had told me he was saving it for a special occasion that never came. As I pulled the bottle out of the cabinet in his long untouched room, I found myself wondering at what the occasion might have been. My eventual marriage, perhaps? Or some other day of prestige? Or, given the nature of alcohol and what it was used for, maybe he was saving it for the day that I might have died? It was a likely prospect, after all.

It didn’t matter anymore. I popped the stopper out of it and inhaled the vapors. My nose hairs were singed by the ferocity of it. I nearly chickened out. Instead, I pulled a swig straight from the bottle. It seared my throat on the way down, and if I thought my nose was singed before…! I snorted from the unexpected burn and some of it shot out of my nose. I coughed and wheezed, then cursed myself for being a wuss and slammed the bottle down on the table so hard that it should have cracked. Finishing my embarrassing display of unmanliness, I sank into the kitchen chair and glowered at the bottle.

One more time. I tipped it back and took a smaller sip, waiting for the burn to fizzle out before I swallowed it. It still burned like all the fires, but it went down and pooled in a hot yet pleasant place in my belly. _Ahhh_ … Now then. Time to get good and drunk.

My eyes were twitching. Begging to be used. By now I was more certain of the hidden power that they contained, a power brought on by the death and grieving of my father, the only person in my life that I had ever truly loved. I was sure that I had the power to persuade, to make a person believe what I wanted them to believe, and I couldn’t think of a more noble use for it than the one that I had planned. I took a drink.

But the magnitude at which I was planning to use it was dangerous. Beyond dangerous. More like suicidal. It might drain all of my chakra to use it, and even then, it might not work. Worse, it might have the opposite effect, and turn all of the Uchiha into stark, raving lunatics bent on chaos. So there I was, downing a bottle of exorbitantly expensive whiskey to prepare for a task so delicate that the slightest loss of focus was likely to be fatal.

 _Good idea, Shisui_ , I thought sarcastically.

But I had to do it. Right now my nerves were so frayed that I couldn’t focus. I was so terrified about what was to come and what Itachi had told me that I needed a night to myself to just let go. It might have been a good idea to invite Itachi, I thought. He _definitely_ needed a drink. I remembered his words as if he had just said them. _Eradicate the Uchiha_. And who would they choose to carry out such a task, I wondered? I took a long, slow swig of whiskey.

Itachi, of course. Another drink.

It hurt. Everything hurt. The scar on my neck, the pain in my heart, the look on Itachi’s face when he said it, and the blonde of Ayumu’s hair. We never asked for any of this, but we had accepted it upon ourselves and now we reaped our grim reward. Itachi would have to kill the Uchiha—all the Uchiha—and I would have to let him kill me, too… wouldn’t I?

 _NO_. Enough was enough. This had to end. I took a long draught out of the bottle and held it in my mouth, savoring it. As the fire sank into my belly, I finally felt myself relax. Yes, enough was enough. We were finished here. I was going to fix it. Even if it cost me my life, or the lives of all of the Uchiha, I was going to save Itachi from his hell. I couldn’t watch him cry again. Something broke in a person to witness a man cry. And most men weren’t Itachi, with his arrogant smirk, perfect composure, and diehard dedication. He was the strongest person that I knew, and I owed him this much for being my friend.

Before I could lose my wits entirely, I penned a note and tucked it into my headband with the untouched and meaningless scroll. Tomorrow was the dawn of a new day.

When the note was written, I cuddled that bottle of whiskey until it didn’t have any loving left to give.

* * *

 


	7. Kotoamatsukami

_**“There is only one thing worse than fighting with allies, and that is fighting without them.” –Winston Churchill** _

* * *

When I woke up, my head was remarkably clear, but my stomach had a thing or two to say about its fullness. I stumbled out onto the porch and puked my guts out into the poppies. I felt a little wobbly, but my head and now my stomach were clear, and my mind was made up. With that kind of resolution, I was ready to face _the world_.

I slid my note under the Hokage’s office door. It didn’t seem that he was in, and I was glad no one had seen me do it. It was a letter explaining the situation and what I had planned to do. If my gambit failed and the Uchiha went mad, he should know about it in case he needed to prepare. I had detailed that possibility in my letter, and I knew he would take me seriously. Sarutobi was Sarutobi. He was shrewd and efficient. Threats were never taken lightly.

That part complete, it was time for phase two. I stood up on a light pole at the back of the Uchiha Compound. I needed to be able to see the whole neighborhood for this to work. That done, I rubbed my hands together to focus and activated my Sharingan. All hints of wobbliness faded, and I felt like a new made man. Whole. Complete. Happy. This was my purpose. I felt the rightness of it like the unfurling of love in my breast.

I thought about Itachi’s tears, and the way he had smiled at Ayumu. I realized, suddenly, that my purpose had changed. This had stopped being about the Village, or the Clan, and had become my own personal crusade to protect the Chosen One. It was Itachi that would save us all, of that I was convinced. All I needed to do was save Itachi, and I would use any means necessary, even if it meant sacrificing myself. In this game, I was merely a Knight.

Smiling, I readied my Jutsu. I had never used it before, but using the Sharingan was instinctual. Any Uchiha with a Sharingan could figure out how to use it with a little discipline and focus, perhaps a little bit of foolishness, too. My problem was that I was trying to use it on a grander scale than a newly fletched Jutsu should be used, but there was no time for practice. I had two eyes, so I had two chances. That would have to be enough.

I shut my right eye. I cast my feelers out, creating a sort of invisible bubble around the Uchiha Compound. I felt for the presence of the blood that ran in my veins. Uchiha Blood. Each one pinged like a miniature red beacon. Painstakingly, I counted them all to make sure all were accounted for. All were. Then, I found Itachi’s, and mentally rubbed his beacon off the map. He didn’t need to be a part of this. His feelings were already pure, and the extra energy I didn’t expend on him might help me with the success of the Jutsu.

I had to move quickly now. If I held them too long without acting, the tenuous snare would snap. Everyone would know what I had done, and I had the sneaking suspicion that some incapacitation would be in store for me, too. Falling from my perch wouldn’t kill me, but I saw no reason to welcome it, either. I took a deep breath and surged my chakra outward. “Kotoamatsukami,” I murmured to myself, striking into the minds of all of my brethren. I felt them still, enthralled by my power, and in that moment I faltered. I was so overcome by the power of my eyes that I hesitated just a moment too long. I realized my mistake, and I frantically tried to reaffirm my hold. The connection between us trembled, but held. I nearly wept with relief, but the time for hesitation was over. I projected the idea that I wanted them to believe. “Protect the Village Hidden in the Leaves,” I whispered along the lines of communication.

My connections strained like a harpstring. Stretched, pulled, shrieked from the tension… and snapped. I felt the beacons wink out like candle flames, and the lines snapped back to me like a rubber band. I was assaulted by pain, and as I had correctly predicted, I fell from the top of the pole and slammed into the ground, all the breath knocked from my lungs.

I panicked and looked around me, but no one had seen. Then I laughed with relief, mostly to convince myself that everything was all right. I was still worried about the after effects of my Jutsu, though. I decided to test it, and strolled, trembling, right into the Uchiha compound to gauge the feeling of the people.

It didn’t take long. The first person I passed was Teyaki, the baker. He had paused in some sweeping. Teyaki had been a friend of my father’s. We’d been on the receiving end of some of his tasty confections. He knew me well, and we liked each other. “Good morning, Shisui!” Teyaki called, waving.

I perked right up and waved back. Thank goodness, no one had known what I had done. “Good morning, Teyaki!” I greeted back. He went back to sweeping his doorstep, and I went back to my stroll, breathing easily. _Saved_. My mood sobered immediately, however, when I realized that, if I failed, Teyaki—and his sweet wife, too—would be killed as well in the massacre to follow. I steeled my resolve. This had to work. It just _had_ to. Failure was not an option. 

I tried not to worry. I had another eye. When my chakra was restored, I would try again. I went back to my house to rest. My stomach heaved when I saw the empty whiskey bottle. I shuddered. _Never again,_ I vowed. I made a quick salad with salmon instead and washed it down with some good old-fashioned, inoffensive water. Food and a nap were the most effective ways to cure chakra depletion. I filled my belly and then flopped down unceremoniously on the futon, reflecting on my mistake.

Next time, I would not fail.

* * *

 

“I felt it,” he accused. 

My unused eye blinked open. The other ached from being used in a way it wasn’t used to and did not wish to be bothered to open. I had run before I could walk, and my muscles were creaking from overuse. My sight fell upon Itachi. Always Itachi. I groaned. “Why do you always wake me up?” I grumbled.

“ _Shisui_ ,” he whispered fiercely, grabbing my shirt and yanking me up off the futon. My arms hung limply at my sides, unconcerned. Itachi would never truly hurt me, and I had no reason to be worried. “I _felt_ it. _What did you do_?” His eyes burned like coals, menacing in the dark of the room.

“Stop manhandling me and maybe I’ll tell you.” He let go instantly without so much as an eyebrow twitch, and my head banged down on the cushion. “Or maybe I won’t,” I said petulantly, and stuck out my tongue just to make a point.

“What is with you lately?” he demanded.

“Don’t worry about me,” I sighed. “I’m fine. 

“You’re not.”

“I am. More fine than I have been in a long time. My Mangekyou—“

He interrupted, “Whatever it is you did with it, don’t do it again,” he ordered.

Ire pricked me once more. “You’re not my boss.” My eyes narrowed.

“I am your _captain_ ,” he hissed, stepping forward. “And your friend,” he added more gently. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Shisui. That power is dangerous. Forbidden.”

It wasn’t like him to pull rank on me. Doing so meant he was desperate to control me, and only he knew the reason why. “I can help,” I repeated for the umpteenth time.

He whirled. “I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP!” he roared, eyes flying open, redder and angrier than mine. He was panting with rage, losing himself.

He actually startled me. I shrank back in the futon and waited quietly for his madness to subside, not daring to provoke him further. His breathing slowed, and his mask returned.

 _No_. No more masks. “Itachi…” I began slowly. “If you try to do this all alone, you _will_ fail.” He bit his lip and didn’t speak. I sat up, and he sat down. I asked the question that I knew was plaguing him the worst. “You’re going to kill us all, aren’t you?” I had suspected. He was the _only_ choice for this job.

He let the silence stretch. Then, “Yes.” To his credit, he didn’t even wince.

I hesitated to offer my help again. But in the end, the temptation was too great. My power was intoxicating. Potent, and pure. “I can stop it.”

He shook his head slowly. “No, don’t.”

I misinterpreted the meaning of his ‘no.’ “Why not?” I asked curiously. “Because the Uchiha truly do deserve death?”

“No,” he said softly, pinning me with his red stare. “Because this new ability of yours could be worse than death, and because you might be killed, too.”

I seared him with an equally powerful look. “You’re just going to kill me anyway.”

He huffed a short laugh, easing the anguish between us. “True,” he admitted.

I pressed on, seizing the opportunity. “Then, Itachi, at least let me _try_.”

I tried to pinpoint the moment we had stopped becoming equals and when he had become my captain. The moment did not coincide with his official promotion. Before, probably, but it was impossible to determine. All I knew was that this project of ours was now operating on his design. He was more clever than me, and so I deferred to his judgment. Most times, anyhow.

Heartbeats passed. Minutes stretched and coalesced, and all the while my heart pounded faster and faster. The end of this nightmare was soon, but whether we lived through it or not had become secondarily important. The Village came first. Before our happiness, and before our besmirched pride.

“Okay.”


	8. To Lose a Right

_**“Our most difficult task as a friend is to offer understanding when we don’t understand. As a friend, you first give your understanding, then you try to understand.” –Robert Brault** _

* * *

We planned to meet at a predetermined place, one hardly worth mentioning, after I had done what needed to be done. It was just a small ledge overlooking the Naka River. Based on my success or failure, we would come up with a new plan. In the meantime, and while I prepared, it was up to him to come up with what those plans might be. We were counting on each other for this. I couldn’t fuck it up this time.

With a grim, very adult determination I made my way toward my perch. When it loomed into view, I stared at it, trying, as I had years ago with the shuriken, to bond with my work. When I was ready, I took a deep breath and approached it with confidence.

“Shisui Uchiha,” a gravelly voice intoned lazily.

I stopped with one foot midair, turned, pretending I had no intention of climbing the pole. No one could know what I was up to. It was Danzo Shimura, one of Konoha’s Council members. “Good morning, Danzo,” I said politely, bowing.

He tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Was that pole to be your crow’s nest?” he asked, unsmiling.

I felt a chilly tingle climb up my spine. He knew what I had planned. But, wait… did that mean that the Hokage had sent him? “Are you here at the Hokage’s behest?”

“You mean, because of this note?” he contended, holding aloft the piece of paper I had slipped under Sarutobi’s door. “In a way, you could say that. You say here,” he drawled, changing the subject and flapping the paper in the air, “that your Sharingan may have the ability to persuade the Uchiha to stand down.”

His voice was honey sweet and laced with venom. I didn’t understand. If the Hokage had sent him to help me, why did he feel so wrong? I needed to trust Sarutobi, though. If he wasn’t on our side, we were lost anyway. “Yes. I was almost able to do it yesterday, with my left eye. I was about to do it just now with the right.”

He nodded once, and then he said the most absurd thing. “Give them to me.” He held out his hand.

 _He couldn’t mean…?_ I looked at his hand, horrified, and flinched away. “Give you what?” 

He took a step forward, menacing. “Your _eyes_.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. One of Konoha’s most influential people was outright demanding my most precious assets, as if I would just hand them over. I was so stunned I barely recovered in time. He dropped his cane and charged as if he had never needed the support in his life. My instincts were sharp, though, and I twisted just in time to miss his blow.

I felt my eyes swell with chakra on their own, sensing the need to be used. I could see his movements more easily this way. He was a wily old man, though, and his taijutsu was relentless and aggressive. I was used to the calm, calculating dance of Itachi’s style, and not the brute force of Danzo’s. I was on the defensive enough that I am ashamed to admit it.

“Fire Style: Dragon Breath Jutsu!” The stream of fire blasted in his direction, but he leapt out of the way. “Fire Style: Blazing Rain Jutsu!” Burning embers fell from the sky, but he knocked them out of the way with an expertly wielded kunai. Damn. I hadn’t expected him to be this good. He appeared to be so decrepit and old that I had underestimated him. I felt like a fool.

When he finally gave me the opening, I panicked and switched to another, more desperate tactic. I shut the left eye and readied Kotoamatsukami, heedless of the consequences of using it now, when I needed it even more desperately to save my Clan. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” I insisted as I readied the snare. _Please don’t make me use this!_ I thought, already tasting the sour flavor of failure.

“I will protect the Village in my own way, without the interference of an upstart Uchiha with a birthright he doesn’t deserve.”

The snare launched… and Danzo disappeared.

I blinked in surprise. I hadn’t even seen him move. My senses sharpened; I stopped breathing and listened, scanning the area. Then, without warning, he appeared right in front of me. Close.

Too damned close. Like a viper, his left arm snapped out, two fingers pointed straight. Right into my wide open, searching eye. I screamed. From my own throat loosed an unearthly howl. The pain I had felt in my lifetime had never been so exquisite. I felt the delicate tissue bend under his fingers, capillaries snapping, blood bursting in my skull. Then, as if it didn’t hurt badly enough, his fingers closed around the delicate eyeball and yanked…

…and my prized Sharingan ripped free from my head. I staggered backward, bewildered at what had just transpired. I was thoroughly sick of hesitating, though. Despite being half blind now and swirling with pain, I wasn’t about to let him get both of my eyes. A good Shinobi knows when to stand and fight, but also when to retreat and regroup. My flight reflex kicked in. My other eye took over the decision-making, and that odd ability I’d discovered in the forest as an ANBU kicked into high gear. I flashed like a mirage through the forest, putting as much distance between myself and the man who had stolen my eye as I could.

When at last I thought I had lost him, I crumpled onto the grass and wept. The tears from my left eye stung the gaping socket of my right, but I didn’t care. The pain was nothing compared to the shame of losing it. “Dammit!” I cursed, driving my fist into the grass and sobbing brokenly. Shaking with frustration and failure, I staggered my way to the meeting place that Itachi and I had reserved. My vision swam and blurred, unused to being halved. My other eye was watering. It was slow, painful going. At any moment, I could be thoroughly sick and just vomit until I died. It was hard to even comprehend what had just happened.

I thought of what the new plan must be on the way there. Danzo had stolen one of my eyes, and he had seen the other technique I possessed. It was an easy lesson one learned as a Shinobi: never let your enemy see your Jutsu. The greedy pig would be back for my other Sharingan. My thoughts were consumed with dread. I could never go home. Danzo was the leader of the ANBU Foundation. There was no place in the Village that would ever be safe again. Corruption ran deep in the Uchiha and in the Village itself it seemed. There was only one thing left to do. I paused in my agonizing trek toward my friend and captain and extracted my scroll supplies. I carefully scrawled a new note, one infinitely more important than the last. I hoped, but wasn’t really worried, that Itachi would understand it, but that no one else would. He wasn’t a Cryptanalyst like me, but he was Itachi. As soon as the ink was dry, I tucked it in my headband and sought out my friend.

When he saw the condition I was in, Itachi hissed through his teeth. “ _Shisui!”_ He crossed the distance between us and embraced me, squeezing tight with sympathy. “Tell me everything,” he commanded, holding me at arm’s length.

I was woefully entertained by how his eyes couldn’t seem to decide where to focus on my face now. The painfully obvious wound, or the politely remaining eye? “Oh this?” I joked with levity, pointing to the empty eyehole. “You should see the other guy.” I forced a smile onto my face.

“Shisui, this isn’t funny,” he warned, lips pulling into a thin line.

I rolled my… eye. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m not exactly sure what the proper response is when a doddering old man appears out of nowhere and _STEALS_ your _EYE_.”

His features crinkled helplessly. “Shisui…”

“Don’t,” I spat bitterly. “Just… don’t.” I slapped his hands away from my shoulder. “I’m leaving.” I relaxed. _Yes, that was the right decision_ , I assured myself. Remembered that he was my friend, and that I had a lot to tell him before I left. “When I tried to stop the coup d’etat by using Kotoamatsukami, Danzo stole my right eye. He doesn’t trust me. I decided to protect the Village my own way. He’ll probably try to get my left eye as well. I’ll give it to you before that happens.”

“How did he know?” he asked, conveniently ignoring my suggestion.

I felt my heart sink. I hadn’t told him that part. “I don’t know,” I lied. Itachi would have told me I was a fool, and I already knew that. I was paying the price for it now. “We fought, and he stole my eye. Itachi… I want you to have the other one.”

His eyes bulged with shock and horror. “No, Shisui. You will need it.”

“No!” I shouted. “ _Listen_ to me. He _saw me_ use the Shunshin. He isn’t going to stop until he has them both.”

He was shaking his head. To rip out one’s own Sharingan—and his last—was unthinkable. “I refuse. Run away if you have to. I'll understand. I can’t… I can’t accept that.”

I took a deep breath. Every bit of me was shaking except, blessedly, my hands. I reached up without preamble, dug my fingers into the socket, and plucked my left eye from my face. The pain doubled. I gasped from the shock, but it was done. I had extracted it much more carefully than Danzo had, and anyway, pain has a maximum. The shame and the sting of failure stung worse than the wound. I heard Itachi stifle a sob, torn by what I had done. I held my hand out, clutching my bloody eyeball. “You’re my best friend, Itachi, and the only one I can ask this. Please, protect the Village… and the Uchiha name. I have failed.”

His hand closed around mine, and finally, he accepted the gift. He didn’t like what I was doing, I knew. But then, he was used to giving the orders between the two of us. When my eye was safely retrieved, he grabbed my shirt and yanked me in for our last hug. “What becomes of you, my friend?” he whispered brokenly, overcome with emotion.

I barked a laugh. It was a hollow sound. “An Uchiha without Sharingan? May as well die.”

“Don’t say that,” he whispered. “Please, I can’t bear any more.”

“Go, Itachi,” I told him gently. “Whatever happens to me now doesn’t matter. I’m useless as a ninja, and I can’t help you anymore. You’ll do what you have to do, as I will.” I quoted my father. “We are the nameless Shinobi… the ones who protect the peace of Konoha from within its shadow.”

“You aren’t useless to _me_. I need you.”

I laughed again. “You never needed me to begin with, Itachi, remember? There’s no time left. Danzo will be tracking me. Go.”

I felt his lips upon my brow, a blessing and a farewell, and then I heard him walk away. This chapter of my life was over. I was blind, and alone, and I was so, so scared.

There was no point sticking around, though. I had meant it when I figured Danzo would already be tracking me. I had very little in the way of a head start on him, and I had stopped to write the other note. I was blind, but I wasn’t completely helpless. This was hardly the first time I had had to move around without being able to see. As an ANBU, there were plenty of occasions when we had to move in the cover of total darkness. My other senses were nearly as sharp as my eyesight.

I knew where I was in relation to my home. I’d have to hurry if I meant to get there before Danzo. As clever as he seemed to be, he might have anticipated that I might go back there. But I had to leave my note there, regardless. If he was there, I’d just have to find a way to sneak in.

Sighing tremulously, I fumbled at the equipment pouch on my belt and withdrew some bandages. Every Shinobi carried a little bit to stop the bleeding on missions. I unraveled enough to wrap my ruined eyes and ripped the cloth off. I exhaled with blessed relief when the stinging breeze stopped blowing into the open wounds. It was almost comfortable, this way. I knew I must look dreadful, too, and I didn’t want to attract too much attention. I cut a smaller length of bandage, wetted it with saliva, and did my best to wipe my face.

I had no more choices left to my decision-making. My father’s words echoed in my head once again. _There will come a time when the decision you are forced to make on a daily basis will be the hardest one you’ve ever made. Every new decision will be harder than the last._ “Father,” I addressed the open air, “you knew this day would come.” This choice was my hardest, but not because the answer eluded me. Stay in Konoha and be killed, or leave Konoha, my home… _forever_.

I knew that I had to leave, but leaving was not so easy as all that. I had nowhere to go, and no one I could trust. Itachi had to stay. Now that I was handicapped, I was not useful to him. He was doomed to our cause alone. _You will never be alone, Itachi,_ I wanted to tell him. He would need to be, though, for a while. I hoped we might meet again, someday, but I didn’t know if it would ever happen. Itachi’s hand was forced, now. He would have to eliminate the Clan. Whatever they had promised him, though, I had no faith in the elders--after meeting Danzo--that Itachi would be given sanctuary and a pardon when his deed was done. The Shinobi world was cruel and unyielding. When he had killed all of the most prestigious Clan of Konoha, he would be labeled ‘murderer’ and exiled.

Perhaps then, we could be friends again.

No one had disturbed my home, to my easement. I left the note and packed some meager provisions. I had to leave the place looking undisturbed. After all, I was pretending suicide. It can’t have looked as if I had skipped town. There was nothing here that I needed with me. I couldn’t even give the place a final glance without eyes. It was too quiet, with my father gone. The dwelling within these walls, at least, I would not miss.

I made my way back to the Naka River. I wanted them to find me, and I wanted this to be believable. _You’re too good at this, Shisui,_ Itachi had said to me. He’d hidden some of his plans from me, as all ninja must do. But, I had hidden some skills of my own. I had developed a unique sealing technique. I hadn’t the foggiest idea of what it would be good for, until now, but… when you think of a new, potentially useful Jutsu, you don’t ignore the inspiration.

I formed my hands in the seals required to make clones. My eyes might be gone, but the chakra that raged within my body was still mine. “Shadow Clone Jutsu.” I heard the poof as a copy of me appeared.

“Hey!” he said to me. “I can’t see you, so you’ll have to speak up.”

I didn’t waste any time. I focused the chakra to the tips of my fingers. “Sealing Technique: Life Anchor Seal!” I thrust my fingers into my clone’s gut, eliciting a gasp of surprise and hurt, creating an invisible seal that would hold him to this world whether either of us were killed or not. As the body deteriorated, so too would the seal. Once its hold had loosened, the clone would dissipate just like a normal Shadow Clone. It was basically relegated to being a time release clone once its heartbeat stopped. It was perfect for this, which I was glad for. I hadn’t seen a reason to use it before. I had never contemplated faking a suicide, and I’d never had a reason to kill my own clone before, either.

When he spoke again, his voice was angry. I almost felt bad. “What are you doing?” he demanded. I heard him take a step back. I lunged, seizing him by the throat with both hands and holding on with all my might. We both tumbled into the river with a splash.

We thrashed and wrestled. He was a copy of me, and because of it, was gifted with all of my skills. The only advantage I had was surprise, and he—being me—was quickly recovering from it. He wriggled like a king salmon, thrashing this way and that, trying to make me lose my grip. This was the singular most important part of my deception, though, and I would not be defeated. There _would_ be a body. I locked my hands and focused all of my attention on keeping him subdued as the river carried us further and further way from our origin.

With my hands around his neck, though, it was hard for me to keep swimming. His thrashing was the only reason we were still both above water, but it was tenuous at best. My mouth and nostrils filled with the taste of fishy water, and I coughed and spluttered nearly as much as he did. I was beginning to fear that my plan might backfire, and that two Shisuis would wash up downstream instead of one. I almost wished I was there to see the confusion on their faces as they struggled to solve the mystery.

In the end, I won by sheer luck. Neither of us had eyes, so neither of us could see, and the river’s current was fierce and merciless. He cracked his skull on something sticking up out of the water. I felt the violent jolt as his body was jerked sideways, and his struggling abruptly stopped. I attuned my sense of touch to his pulse beneath my fingers. It was gone. I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the face, so I let go of his neck as soon as I had confirmed that he was dead.

My hands free from the murder—suicide?—I focused all of my faculties on the swim to shore. I had no idea where or how far the shore was, but I knew it would be across the current, not with or against. After that, it was just the little matter of which bank I ended up on. I kicked and paddled until my hands dug into sand, and dragged myself up onto the riverside. I lay panting, exhausted from the lack of oxygen and the battle in the water. I wasn’t worried about a little respite, though. No one would find me now, anyway.


	9. Decryption

_**“I think if I've learned anything about friendship, it's to hang in, stay connected, fight for them, and let them fight for you. Don't walk away, don't be distracted, don't be too busy or tired, don't take them for granted. Friends are part of the glue that holds life and faith together. Powerful stuff.” –Jon Katz** _

* * *

 

As my strength returned, so too did a strange breed of happiness. I was _free_. Free from expectations and duties, free from Itachi’s shadow, free from the doom that awaited either Uchiha or Konoha… just _free_. In a way, the severance of my eyes was the severance of the chain that bound me to them. No one would even know me as an Uchiha now without the crimson of my eyes. I was neither ninja nor Uchiha. I was merely a poor blind kid, lost and alone.

As the potential inherent in the situation unfurled from my imagination, I reveled in my newfound freedom. I had been frightened to be blinded, yes, and I had felt guilt at having failed my friend. Without me, Itachi was now doomed to all the travesties of our nation and our family alone. For this, I sincerely did not envy him. The opposite was also true, though. Without my eyes, I might truly _see_ the world. I might even be able to further his cause without surveillance, all the while living in a peace of my own.

But first, I needed to find somewhere safe.

Within a few weeks, I was used to my sightless body. I was thankful for my Shinobi training, particularly that of ANBU. My ears and nose were making up for my lack of eyes, and moving around had gotten easier. I had adopted a long stick like I had seen other blind people using when I had had eyes. They used it to feel out in front of them so they could walk faster. I found it to be an effective method, and adjusted to it quickly. Before too long, I was able to move much faster in my search for a new home.

I followed the Naka River until I found refuge in a tiny village called Mienai. It was off of the main travel ways of the ninja villages, and as I came to learn, south of Konoha, almost to the Land of Rivers. I was glad that I had come this way; Konoha had very little dealings with the quiet nations of the south. I was out of the way and unlikely to be discovered.

I took up the name Seikatsu, and the villagers of Mienai mostly left me alone. I became the Blind Hermit, which suited me just fine. They didn’t like nor dislike me, and I made a point of staying out of their way. My handicap made them uncomfortable, but they didn’t believe I was dangerous. I couldn’t see, after all, so what threat did I pose? I chose to avoid society. I didn’t want to distinguish myself in any way, just in case. I caught fish in the Rivers Mitake and Naka, and grew vegetables to feed myself. I traded for rice or whatever supplies I needed with the extra fish that I caught. I was a subdued presence here, just another cog in the village wheel.

Time to get to work.

I waited for the commotion in Konoha to die down before I set into the real research. I had received word that Itachi had done what he had planned; the Uchiha were dead. I felt a pang of regret that good, honest folk like Teyaki were gone, but it couldn’t be helped. Revenge was a dish that never ran out. If even Teyaki were left alive, he’d seek retribution. Rumor had it, though, that Sasuke yet lived and was basically a ward of the Village. The Hokage was keeping tabs on him, to make sure that he wanted for nothing. I was glad to hear that Itachi had not killed his brother. My friend had enough innocent deaths on his conscience, deaths that assuredly were now haunting him on a nightly basis. It can’t have been easy.

Evidence of Itachi’s whereabouts was hazier, though. Gossip that made its way down south placed him anywhere from The Land of Waves to The Land of Lightning and everywhere in between. As I had suspected, he was a fugitive, and the most wanted criminal in all of the Land of Fire. My heart bled for him. He didn’t deserve the stigma. But, knowing Itachi, he probably embraced the badge of infamy. He was branded a criminal, and so help him, if it kept the peace in his beloved homeland, he would play the criminal, too.

I was just starting to make plans to track him down to get the band back together when I heard the news: Itachi had joined Akatsuki. I had not even heard of what Akatsuki was, yet, but I knew what it meant anyway: Itachi was lost. I couldn’t approach him unless he was alone. My existence had been erased. It stung, a little, that he had not looked for me and had instead found some kind of new team. But, Itachi always had a plan, I reminded myself. He always knew what he was doing. I’d just have to find a way to guess at what he was planning, and help if I could.

_“If you want to help, decode that scroll you found. That was Izuna Uchiha’s tomb we raided. The information in that scroll would have to be of critical importance to have been buried with him.”_

I laughed triumphantly, remembering. I extracted the scroll from my headband and placed it on the table, but my victory was short-lived. How was I supposed to decode a scroll that I could not see? I lay my fingers on the paper, awed by how delicate the paper was. This document was old… very old. I opened it anyway, smoothing out the paper as it stubbornly held onto its curl. My fingers slid easily over the paper…

…and my heart stopped. There was a series of raised and indented dots all along the paper. I pressed the pad of one finger to it, trying to understand the mystery of what I had found. Itachi had said there was nothing on it, but Itachi had only been looking at it. Were these… clear dots? Dots of wax, perhaps? They had survived my tumble into the river, after all, so they weren’t water soluble.

Then it dawned on me. This was _Izuna’s_ scroll. Izuna, the younger brother of Madara, who had _lost_ his _eyes_. We hadn’t been able to read it before because we were looking for letters. Izuna had written this for people who could not see. My head ached with the possibility of it. Izuna was blinded only shortly before dying, so why had he bothered to write anything at all? Unless Izuna had not written it?

I shook myself. I needed to stop puzzling over the why until I figured out the what. There was a message here written for people who lacked sight. I was a blind Cryptanalyst. Once again, I felt the thrill of purpose. I had the glowing sense that I had been born for this. I weighted down the four corners of the sheet of paper and grabbed a glass of water (because I was thirsty). The only way to make it to the end was to start. I took a drink of water, then carefully moved the glass out of my way. Then, without further hindrance, I pressed my fingertips gently to the wax writing and opened my mind.

Decoding the scroll was definitely a labor of love. It took me years. There was a certain protocol to determining a code that involved seeking out patterns, beginning with the most common. This, however, was the kind of code that had never been used before. It didn’t share the same kinds of patterns as a written word. You couldn’t look for clues in the way a letter was written differently at one point versus another, or grab all the first letters and rearrange them. I didn’t even know what the letters were, or how many words or letters was included in a grouping of bumps, or even how large a grouping of bumps comprised one coherent thought, phrase, or word. Whatever was written on that fragile parchment may as well have been a new language.

Many times, I grew frustrated and quit for a while. My brain was tired. This was my _one job_ , and the one thing that I could do for Itachi. It wasn’t even dangerous! It chafed that I seemed to be failing at the only thing I could do. I felt as if I had tried everything I could to crack the code, but even then, I’d come up with something new to try and take another crack at it. Endless hours were spent with my hands on that scroll. It was a wonder that I had not rubbed the bumps off already.

When I was not working on decoding the scroll, I was continuously training. Just because I couldn’t see did not mean that I couldn’t die. I had to keep my body in shape just in case I needed to fight. I practiced my taijutsu forms every morning and evening, feeling an even greater connection with the nobility of hand-to-hand combat now that my eyesight did not distract me. I felt the tautness of every muscle fiber and was more keenly aware of my limits. I pushed them, as often as I had the chance, seeking only to improve ever greater. Itachi was not my superior in taijutsu, and I didn’t intend for anyone else to be either. Blindness wasn’t an excuse.

Practicing ninjutsu was a little more challenging. I was doing my best to conceal from the villagers of Mienai that I was a ninja at all. My Konoha standard issue forehead protector was in a drawer next to my bed. My home was tucked back into the woods a little ways, so no one ever saw me practicing my taijutsu forms. But ninjutsu was a different story. I could not use Fire Style in the cover of trees or I risked setting the entire forest ablaze, and my house with it, but the brightness and the heat of the flames was bound to attract attention.

Following the River Mitake further south brought me to the sea. It spilled out through a delta, and the seas were so stormy here that not even ships came near the shore. The beach was coated with sharp, jagged stones. The place was deserted, which made it ideal for my purposes.

I learned, through practice, of a new problem. As a man with sight, I had relied upon my Fire Style as main source for offense. However, fire makes a very distinct roar when expelled in large volumes. The heat causes a displacement of air, which causes a loud, rushing sound. As a blind man, I relied on my ears to detect movements and predict the motions of my enemy. These two styles were no longer compatible. I had two choices in my search for a solution: forego Fire Style, or transform fire into a quiet entity, a monumental task currently without a solution.

In the end, the choice wasn’t that difficult. I loved using fire. Besides the fact that it made me feel proud to actually be an Uchiha, it was a devastatingly powerful weapon, and its use made me feel strong and alive. Fire was among the most feared of the elements, surpassed only by the instantaneous death brought about by Lightning Style. Giving up the Fire Style was giving up a part of myself, and that I could not do. So, I opted for adding another piece of myself instead of deleting one, and I set about creating silent flames.

It seemed like such a simple task, but it turned out to be much more of an ordeal than I anticipated. Between that and the strange scroll of Izuna Uchiha, I definitely had my hands full.

I was over a year into the decryption project when I made a breakthrough. I had tried every permutation of letters for the patterns of dots, and every permutation of possible Kanji as well. The only classification system that made sense was that each grouping of dots represented syllables, not individual kanji, letters, or even whole words. It wasn’t too much longer after that before I made another leap and decoded the word “Brother.”

A few months later found me leaning back in my chair with a satisfied smile on my face. To celebrate, I made fried donuts and had them with coffee. I thought about transcribing the message into kanji, just in case something happened to me, but given the sensitive nature of the message, decided against it. The scroll described a Forbidden technique, and one that would assuredly be dangerous in the wrong hands. As I nibbled on my donuts—which were delicious, by the way, with flavor further enhanced by victory—I ran my fingertips over the message, rereading it, and smiled.

* * *

 

“Brother- 

I was visited by the Spirit of the Sage of the Six Paths. He is so beautiful, Madara! He kissed me upon the lips and told me not to fear. You cannot imagine such power! When I told him of you and the bond that we shared and how I could not bear the thought of leaving you alone, he took pity on me and helped me to hang onto life so that I might write this to you. I would have written in kanji, but I feared that if I slipped up my strokes, you might not understand my message. Someday, perhaps, you will be able to read this. I have faith, because we two are too alike for you not to.

If you are reading this, it means I am dead and you have lost the light of your eyes. Fear not. I have found the way to break the Uchiha Curse of Hatred that plagues our bloodline. The answer may surprise you. It is death. To be more specific, it is sacrifice. When an Uchiha is willing to give up his body so that another Uchiha may live again, it will cleanse the toxins of the Sharingan. I have learned this as I lay dying from the Sage himself. 

Take this technique and apply it with love in your heart. The light will return, and you will live in the glory that you always deserved. With love, Izuna.”

* * *

 

The rest of the scroll was an assortment of hand seals, sixty-seven in total. Thirteen of them were seals I had never seen nor used before, but they were drawn neatly in wax so that I could feel them and emulate them. I spent a lot of time memorizing them. Much like with my Life Anchor Seal technique, I had no idea when I could use this, but I knew it could potentially be useful.

If Itachi ever died… I would gladly give my life to restore him. I had no one left to love me except for him, and he still had Sasuke.

Sasuke… what must his little brother think of the allegations against Itachi, I wondered? With ice in my heart, I realized that Sasuke must hate him now. But, how could anyone hate Itachi? For me, I could remember all of his warm smiles, and the cheeky laughter as we fought. I remembered the times he had saved my neck and when I had saved his. He had praised my talents and sought my advice, and I’d never had a truer friend.

But I remembered another Itachi, too. Itachi had taken to his training like a fish to water, a bird to the skies. He had adopted that killer’s countenance long before he had killed, and time had only enhanced his fearsome looks. Which face had Sasuke seen? Or had he seen both?

What if Sasuke never forgave him? He’d been only a boy at the time that his family had been killed, after all.

My fingers itched for action. I considered seeking him out to tell him the truth, but who was I to him?  His brother’s cold and distant friend. We’d never actually talked, he and I. What reason would I have to change his mind, and why should he believe a stranger over his Hokage? Despite my better judgment, I still had to fight the temptation to locate Sasuke. After all, who was left to protect him, now that Itachi was lost?

I felt a slow smile bloom on my face as I realized that Sasuke had inadvertently become my brother, too. He was important to Itachi, and Itachi was important to me. I found myself wondering how my wayward criminal friend was doing, and once again toyed with the idea of tracking him down.

But that was impossible. He was much faster than I was with my blindness. He had decoded the note I’d left, I hoped, cleverly disguised as a suicide letter. He should know I was alive and out here somewhere. I calmed my troubled heart and convinced myself to trust him. He should know what he was doing. When he was ready to come and find me, he would do so, and not before.

I told myself that, and relaxed.

 

* * *

 


	10. The Sound of Silence

_**“The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for.” –Bob Marley** _

* * *

 

With the scroll out of the way, I was able to spend the bulk of my time training for my silent Fire Style. It was elaborately difficult. I had tried working on a jutsu to dampen the sound, but the only way it worked in practice was to contain the sound of the fire within the barrier I created. I had tried inverting the jutsu so that the sound would reflect outward instead of near my ears, but in doing so I cancelled all sound within the area, and if I did that, I’d not be able to hear my enemy either. I had also tried creating a brand of fire that did not make any noise, but such a task was simply impossible. I could not change the nature of the very elements.

The approach that ultimately worked was to modify my own chakra somewhat. Chakra is an individual, unique power, much like a fingerprint. Everyone’s chakra is slightly different, which is what contributes to a diverse skillset of jutsu and style. Changing the nature of one’s own chakra, however, is a herculean task. May as well set out to change your fingerprints.

On the other hand, you can scar your fingerprints, or burn them away entirely, and forever mar the perfect map of your own DNA. If that were the case, I did not see why it might be impossible to change the pitch and timbre of the sounds one emitted, by the same logic that one could change whether or not they had vision. Understand, I could not improve the nature of my chakra any more than I could grow back my eyes, but I could maim my chakra the same as I could gouge my eyes out. What I attempted was perilous, though. If I ruined my chakra irreparably, I could eliminate my ability to meld ninjutsu out of chakra at all. After what I’m about to tell you, I don’t recommend trying it yourself.

I spent copious amounts of time learning about my own chakra. It was like going back to the academy. But, if I didn’t know it well enough, how could I expect to make the proper modifications? I was sure I could do this, but had yet to nail down how. The more time I spent looking deep, deep within myself, though, the closer I felt to the answer.

Until finally, I figured it out.

As it turns out, chakra has a voice. A tiny, imperceptible, silent-to-the-naked-ears voice. It was more a feeling of static energy on top of the already bright and youthful energy of the chakra itself. If I had to put a name to it, I’d say that the subtle whir that accompanied the chakra was like its center of happiness, the part of chakra that made melding life energy into jutsu enjoyable and liberating. And once I discovered it, I was loath to shut off the mesmerizing music.

Take the joy out of ninjutsu? It was almost unthinkable. Melding ninjutsu… the pleasure of wielding immense, terrible yet beautiful power… was the allure of Shinobi life. It was the part of being a ninja—confronting the deaths of yourself and others—that made it almost enjoyable as you fulfilled your role as protector of the peace.

I had to, though. At this point, I couldn’t use my ninjutsu anyway or I would be endangering myself and leaving my body vulnerable to attack. I had to try.

And so, I spent a few last moments with my unmolested chakra, listening to its beautiful song. I almost felt guilty for ruining, but what must be done, must be done.

I seized upon my chakra network like a dog upon a bone, creating a sort of hiccup, squelching the power within me. My chakra screamed; the pain was more extreme than anything I had ever experienced. My entire body felt as if I had been seared by flames hotter than my Dragon Breath. My head throbbed, and every blood vessel in my body felt as if it had swollen to six times its size. I ached like an old man, my bones seemingly empty of all of their marrow. I almost wished it had knocked me unconscious, but alas, I was not so lucky.

It took me three days to fully recover from the incident. Three horrifyingly uncertain days in which I didn’t know if I could even use my chakra anymore and was too afraid to even try. If changing it had hurt so much, would using it feel any better? When at last I felt whole and hale, I made haste to the Mitake beach, feeling more apprehensive with every step. If it worked, it would be wonderful. But, what if it _didn’t_?

My heart clamored in the cage of my breast, trying to beat its way free as I stood upon the beach and face out over the roaring, choppy waves. It was now or never. Either I was still a ninja, or I _really_ wasn’t. “Fire Style: Dragon Breath Jutsu!” My transmogrified chakra leapt to obey my command, rivers of molten fire burning through my system like a wildfire. I burned with the pain, shaking and sweating…

…and the fire jettisoned across the waves, the intense heat evaporating the waves where it traveled, creating a vortex of fire cushioned by wind, cradled by water.

And where once before, there was a roar to shame lions, now there was only a muted grumble and crackle, as if the massive inferno was nothing more than an unhappy bonfire.

As the flames died down, so did the pain that had accompanied my efforts, and I fell to my knees with joy, relief, and trepidation. Joy, because I had succeeded, mostly. I had not achieved silence, but I had at least made progress in achieving my goal. Relief, because my chakra was just as responsive as it had always been, despite how I had abused its devotion to my body. And trepidation, because I still had work to do. I would have to attempt the dampening again and risk the bodily harm that came with it, and I’d have to feel the screaming sensation of angry chakra burst through my cells with every jutsu I commanded.

I’d have attempted the second depression upon my chakra sitting right there on the beach, but since the last time had incapacitated me for days, I made the long and arduous trek back to my cottage. I briefly considered waiting awhile before I tried again, but I saw no purpose in that. Delaying the inevitable would only serve to heighten my anxiety, and I saw no reason to waste a whole day. If I ripped open the wounds of my folly anew, I’d only have to heal them once.

Sighing with resignation, I sat down upon my bed cross-legged and opened myself up to my chakra network. With wry amusement I wondered… was this what the Hyuuga felt like? Did all of them have such an intimate relationship with their chakra? The Uchiha had such vast wells of power that they mostly bludgeoned along, using their chakra like a battle axe to brute force their opponents into submission. Only the truly astute like Itachi had ever bothered with the delicate study of chakra control.

Smoothing my energies along the fragile framework of my chakra, I found the place that I had scored it earlier and gingerly swept past it. It would be…unwise…to attempt to scar my energy in the same place twice. I might sever the vessels entirely and actually succeed where I had before failed in the matter of my suicide. Instead, I chose a more distant spot, and, taking a deep breath to steady my frayed nerves, I assailed the frail vessels and struck, shearing ever so slightly, as before.

In the same instant, my body contracted violently and threw me backwards, convulsing upon my stiff mattress. My head swelled up like a bloated corpse, flooding my brain with blood and pain. Intuitively, I knew that my tender, vulnerable brain was hemorrhaging, but there was nothing to do about it but pray that I survived. I gasped for air, too stunned to even scream, coughed, and vomited. Every muscle in my body seized up as I fought the ever-rising tide of panic. Blind and in hysterics, I held onto the weak chains that bound my corpse to life.

I could _not_ let go.

I’m not sure how long it was that I fought for my life, or how long I was out as a result. All I know is that it was the single most frantic, terrifying moment of my life, and that miraculously, I had survived. I had done something profoundly foolish, and worse, I had attempted it twice because I was greedy enough to demand perfection. I could not be happy with quiet fire. It had to be _silent_ , lest my abilities as a Shinobi be impeded.

What would Itachi say? Would he tell me I was being an idiot? Or would he tell me again that I was too hell-bent on my ambitions as to be overqualified?

When I woke up, my stomach was empty, but so queasy that I dared not put anything into it. My ordeal had left me as weak as a newborn. I deserved it, but I resented my vulnerability. Was it not enough that I was blind? Shaking, I extricated myself from soaked sheets. I couldn’t be certain if I had soaked them with sweat, or urine, or both. They would need to be discarded, I decided. But later. For now… I had to try to eat something, even if it came back up.

To my great surprise and relief, a small amount of plain rice stayed down. My stomach snarled at me for sustenance, even as it threatened to revolt, but I knew better than to give in. So, I clambered back to my bed, every step in agony, and flopped back down on the saturated sheets. My veins ran with acid, my heartbeat was too fast, and my head ached ferociously. It took me too long to go back to sleep, and when I finally did, I didn’t really care whether or not I woke again.

By the time the sweats, shakes, and aches had subsided, the seasons had changed again. I had certainly learned my lesson; I was never going to attempt to alter my chakra again. And, if I ever made another friend, I vowed to warn them of the dangers of my discovery, lest anyone else attempt the same. Though why anyone else would, I had no idea. My circumstances were rather unique.

I stood on the beach at the mouth of the Mitake River. It was windier today. The fresh, cold breezes of the sea were a welcome change from the stagnant, sour environment of my cottage. I breathed it in and out for a long time, savoring the taste of a life I had surely almost lost. It tasted like fortune and fate, flavored with sweetness. I had been saved for a reason, I surmised, and I had never been a very religious man before. It served to remind me of what I was fighting for. Somewhere out there was a man who had depended on me, and he was suffering now alone with an agony that was meant for at _least_ two. It was time to repay him for the friendship he had bestowed upon me, a reward I had never earned nor deserved and selfishly squandered.

“Fire Style: Dragon Breath Jutsu!” My voice rang out over the crash of the waves and the howling wind. The fire that belched forth from my mouth was pure and hellishly hot. My bones flared with the pain of my corrupted chakra, but I ground my jaws together and stubbornly bore it. The misery of using my chakra now was a drop in the ocean compared to the torture that had befallen me when I had stupidly dabbled in playing at godliness.  

But, as luck would have it, I had at last achieved my goal. The only sounds I heard over the crash of the waves were the squawk of gulls, the whistling of the wind, and the flapping of my clothing. The flames themselves made not one scintilla of noise. I let the fires die, smiling. As the current within my chakra network slowed, so too did the pain lessen. It was a bearable phenomenon, if unpleasant. “Fire Style: Blazing Rain Jutsu!” I cried, launching my hands into the air. I felt the air around me heat. There would have been no way to determine if I had succeeded in my scattered attack, except that where fire fell into the sea, water evaporated with a hiss.

It was an acceptable sound, brought on by the nature of the water that I hit, and not the fire that I had created. Nodding to myself in satisfaction, I turned and left the beach.

There was no time to lose. I was as ready as I was ever going to be. Time to make preparations and find Itachi. I might not ever have a use in his world.

But I _might_.

* * *

 


	11. Bad News

_**“Good friends are like stars. You don’t always see them, but you know they’re always there.” --Christy Evans** _

* * *

 

I hauled the basket of river trout I had brought onto the counter for Banban, She set down a similarly sized basket of rice on the counter. “You’re such a doll, Seikatsu,” her rich voice intoned. I felt her warm, clean scented hands grasp mine. Of all the people of the village, I liked her best. She didn’t seem perturbed by my eyelessness, and also seemed to understand that gentle touches and sweet words were the only way to reach me. She made a habit of patting my shoulder, touching my arm, or grabbing my hands when she talked to me.

I had no idea how old she was. She could have been anywhere from twenty to fifty, and I’d never know. Whether she was ugly or pretty made no difference. I flirted with her shamelessly. I’d never been with a woman, and I’ll admit I had been curious. My hands in hers sent a fire roaring through my blood, and when she leaned in close to kiss my cheek I wanted to kiss her back.

I didn’t, though, because I didn’t know how she would respond. I had nothing to offer, and my path would likely lead me to death. “You’re looking pretty as ever, Banban,” I joked. It was even more amusing because I couldn’t see, but she always took the compliment with grace anyway.

“You’ll set me all to blushing, you dog,” she laughed, stroking the skin of my hand.

“But you’re so pretty when you blush!” She chuckled again. “What’s the news of the day, dear Banban?” I asked her. She was my source for news, as well. The rice that she sold came with a shipment once a week, and with the shipment came the worldly gossip. For the price of her favorite river trout, I received both rice and news.

Her laughter dried up and her voice lowered. News was a serious business, for her. It seemed to me that every death and every mystery affected her in a personal way, but she knew my proclivities well. “You know that man you ask about? The criminal?”

“Yeah, the Leaf’s famous Clan Killer. He’s from the Uchiha Clan. You know how much I love a good murder story,” I said with a grin. Inwardly, though, I was impatient. News of Itachi’s whereabouts and goings on were exceedingly rare. I had passed off my curiosity to this woman as an innocent interest in something akin to literature. His was an ongoing murder mystery epic, and every unveiled bit of news was like a new chapter.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Hachi, I believe.” She had said his name wrong, but it was probably for the best, so I didn’t correct her.

“What’s the latest in his Blood Crusade?” I asked, trying to sound bemused and not too hungry for the information.

“Word’s out that he’s been killed.”

My world lurched. I had to fight myself to keep my balance and not betray my true feelings. “Oh, really?” I asked, my voice completely disconnected from the storm that raged inside me. The news had been mistaken before. There was a time that I had heard that Madara Uchiha yet lived, and that was surely impossible. I had also heard that the Leaf Jinchuuriki had been killed, but then several more reports had him alive and kicking. His character was an unmistakable mark on this earth. No one could be uncertain about whether or not a person was Naruto Uzumaki. I had heard Itachi was in the Land of Snow the same week I had heard that he was in the Land of Wind. The news could always be wrong.

But somehow, I knew that it wasn’t. By this point, I had learned who the Akatsuki were. At first, I had been perplexed that he had joined a pack of murderous dogs. But after some days of thought, confused by the notion, I remembered my father’s words, the ones I had said to Itachi that last day. I had told him that a true hero serves peace from the shadows. If I knew Itachi at all, he was a part of Akatsuki for a reason, and probably espionage, as was his craft. I had heard another quote from one of my mentors at the Cryptanalysis Division. “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.” It was all so beautifully orchestrated that I had laughed out loud. Itachi was spying on the highest order of criminals by being one himself.

 _Who is he reporting to, though?_ I had wondered. It seems now I would never know.

Banban sighed wistfully. “Yeah, they say he picked a fight with his little brother and the brat beat him fair and square.” She rubbed at a spot on the back of his hand, seemingly aware of his distress. “Something the matter, Seikatsu?”

I realized I’d been holding my breath. I let it all out in a rush of air and plastered another fake smile on my face. “Sorry, Banban, it’s just… I can’t believe his story is over. I guess I’ll just have to make up more excuses to come see you.”

She giggled again and patted my hand. “Alright, you had probably best be on your way,” she whispered at me, then added coyly, “before I try to trade you more than rice.” I wondered, dumbly, if she had guessed at my upset, and dismissed me for my own good.

I forced a hearty laugh at the flirtatious joke, squeezed her hands and released them. “If you wish it, fair Banban!” I teased. I grabbed the handle of the rice basket and my seeing stick with the other, bid her farewell, and took my leave. The stick was just a ruse, at this point; I no longer needed it. But, if I walked around without it, people would wonder how and ask questions.

If I had had eyes, I would have wept. I had heard rumors of his death before, but that was all they had been. Rumors. Something about this one smacked of truth. Sasuke had been reported to be hunting Itachi, bent on vengeance. He had spent years in isolation training under one of Konoha’s Sannin, and by now would be quite powerful.

I don’t know how to explain it. I just knew. There was something intrinsically sadder about today’s world than yesterday’s.

If I had thought that it was a good time to leave Mienai, my mind was made up now. I hurried home and packed up what meager belongings I needed. I transferred the rice I’d traded from Banban into a cloth sack and packed some cured fish on top of it. I no longer had the clothes I’d worn here; they had been ruined during my transmutation. I had managed to find a pair of comfortable pants in town, though, as well as a close fitting sleeveless shirt. I had no idea what color they were, but I suppose that didn’t matter so much. I didn’t want anyone to be able to assume I was blind; if an enemy knew my weakness, I’d be at a disadvantage in battle. For that reason, I’d had Banban find me a low brimmed hat a long time ago. It covered more than half my face and had a snug chin strap, so it wouldn’t get in my way during a fight. And finally, just because the weather was a little cooler this time of the year, I’d traded the remained of my useful supplies—ink, my fishing gear, and a couple of books that had been left in the cottage when I moved in—for a heavy cape to keep my core warm.

The last thing I grabbed was my forehead protector. I tied that thing tight over my brow, proud once more to be wearing it. With a song in my heart, I returned the now-translated scroll to its place in the cloth. I would definitely need that.

I shut the door behind me for the last time. Goodnight, Seikatsu. Good morning, Shisui Uchiha.

After such a long time in quiet, sedentary isolation, it was good to be on the road again. My once aching legs stretched in pleasure, and the only soreness I felt at all was from fatigue. I walked for days upon days, sleeping while the birds sang overhead and walking when the world got quiet again. I was determined to go… though I had no idea where or why. Call it a hunch, but I had the irresistible urge to be somewhere, to do something. I didn’t know what I was needed for, or by whom, only that I was needed. The world had taken in a collective breath, and I needed to find out what was suffocating it.

I followed the Naka River north through Konoha. Strangers were a common enough occurrence in Konoha that I didn’t worry about being stopped nor recognized. Even if I had been worried, my concerns would have been dispelled immediately. The Village was deserted. I was so curious for the absolute desertion that I had to ask. I reached out and stopped a passerby as I walked through the Village that had once been my home.

“Excuse me,” I said, my voice coarse with disuse. “But where are all the people of this Village?”

It was an old woman’s voice that answered after a hurried moment to take in my appearance. “No one must have told you,” she said gently. “But the Village more or less emptied when the war broke out.”

I held my breath. “War?” There hadn’t been a war in decades. Why hadn’t I heard that news yet? Itachi and I had done our best to prevent wars. Had we failed? 

“Yes, the war that Madara wages against the free world. You must have missed a lot. I have a bit, if you want me to fill you in.”

 _Madara_? Bless the Leaf and the compassion of its civilians, I thought. “That would be very kind of you, Miss…?”

“Yasashii,” she told me brightly. “And you are?”

I briefly considered giving her my Mienai name, Seikatsu, but… by my reckoning, some kind of end was near, and the time for hiding was over. Chances were that she probably had no idea who I was, anyway. “Shisui,” I told her.

She didn’t even flinch at the name. It wasn’t too unique, I supposed. “Nice to meet you, Shisui,” she said, grasping my hand.

“And you, Yasashii.”

She led me to a place nearby that served sake and dumplings. Like the rest of the Village, it was deserted, save for the one young girl who was running it. I wondered idly how the economy of Konoha was to survive the war…

…or if any of its people would.

“Would it be okay if I asked you why you are unaware of the current political situation, Shisui?” she asked politely.

No more lies, I vowed. “I’ve been away for a long time. South.”

“I see. Lucky you… the war lies to the west. I’d avoid that place, if I were you.” I heard the delicate slurp as she sipped her coffee, and I waited patiently. “A man in a mask who called himself Tobi showed up,” she explained. “And it was later revealed that he was Madara.”

“How?” I asked. I had heard that rumor, but had assumed it was impossible. I supposed I should have known better, since I, myself, had the knowledge of how to revive a lost soul. 

“No one knows. Some trick of that cursed Sharingan, most like. He has an army of the dead and a way of making clones so close to the real thing that not even their friends can tell them apart. At least, that's what the news is." She sipped her coffee again. "All of the Shinobi nations have banded together to fight him.”

I nearly choked on my coffee. “What? An alliance?” Of _all five nations?!_

“Yes,” she responded, excited. “All of the Nations, Cloud, Rock, Mist, Leaf, Sand… they are all represented. Even some of the smaller villages have joined the fight, working together, Kage with Kage and rivals as friends.”

I slumped back in my chair, awestruck. “Amazing,” I murmured truthfully. Perhaps we had not failed, after all. Coming together against a common enemy must be the brother of peace.

“Mm hmm,” she agreed. “Are you a ninja, too?”

I had kept my hat on. I wasn’t against hiding the insignia, but I didn’t want to let on that I was blind, even to her. “Yes,” I told her honestly.

“Are you going to the battlefield then?” she asked with a trace of concern.

I thought about it, and asked myself if Itachi would have gone. Of course he would have, if he had lived to do so. But with a start, I remembered something else important. Sasuke was probably there. I could not blame him for killing his brother, even if it pained me. After all, what seemed like decades before, Itachi had killed my father for a pretty good reason. He might not remember who I was, but I owed Itachi at least that much. I would go to Sasuke, and protect him if I could.

And then, with the scroll that I now hid in the fabric of my forehead protector, I would give this world back their most perfect child.

“Yes,” I answered her finally. “Which way do I go?” I stood, eager to be on my way.

“West,” she reminded me. “It’s supposed to be a pretty big to-do. I don’t think you can miss it.”

 _No_ , I thought, _but not for the reasons you would think_. Once you got close enough, there was no way one could mistake the stench of rotting bodies. There was not a smell in the world like the putrid stink of decaying human flesh. “Thanks,” I said with a smile. “Damn,” I realized, “I don’t have any money.” I grimaced, feeling rude.

“Don’t worry about it!” she reassured me. “The Village is in a state of emergency. All of the restaurants in the city are offering their services free of charge until the Shinobi return.”

I sagged with relief. “Oh. Thank you, Yasashii.”

“Be careful out there, Suishu.”

I didn’t correct her. It might be good that she had already forgotten my name. I kissed her on the cheek, earning me a giggle and a friendly pat on the butt as I left. I waved at her one more time before I made my way out of Konoha for the very last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI and just as a forewarning... I wrote this in the middle of the conflict with Madara in the war. I was utterly confused about what was going on in the manga and the anime wasn't out yet, so if there are any inconsistencies in the scenes to come, I apologize.
> 
> But, the story is written, and it's not changing. ^_^


	12. Attachments

_**“The most precious gift we can offer anyone is our attention. When mindfulness embraces those we love, they will bloom like flowers.” –Thich Nhat Hanh** _

* * *

 

As I suspected, I smelled the battlefield long before I reached it.

Every so often, the west wind blew in my direction, and with it came the unmistakable smells of putrescine and cadaverine, the chemicals responsible for the smell of dead human bodies. It is one of the last things they teach you as a ninja, once they’ve hooked you with their promises of glory and power.

They try to desensitize you to it as part of your training. They take you into a room with a covered body, one that the hospital could not save or some such. It is an agreement that the ANBU captains have with the hospital staff: once they lose a patient, their body becomes the property of ANBU, so long as the captains are willing to honor the last wishes of the dying and return the remains to the family. They leave you alone with the body for three hours, which is far more than enough. The first whiff is overpowering. After only about 30 minutes, you’re as ‘desensitized’ as you’re ever going to get.

Until the first time you’re around your run of the mill man-killed dead bodies, you forget about your training. You see it as a test, and you study just enough to pass it before forgetting all about it. You play at ninja as a genin, until you’re initiated through your first kill.

And then, all of those seemingly unnecessary tests and tribulations come howling back en force… just like a puff of putrescine. I knew better than to try to beat back the smell. There was no mask in the world that could stop putrescine. Instead, I soldiered on, walking bravely into the source of the offense.

As I neared the heart of the battlefield, I detected the heat of another’s presence nearby. It’s like that sense you get that someone was watching you, the unshakable feeling that someone is there. There was nothing but Shinobi out here. Chances of the other person being an enemy were just as good as the chances that he or she was a friend. I slowed my movements. There was no one better at being quiet than me… at least, not since Itachi had died. I thought about attacking the person outright. After all, I had neither friend nor foe out here in this arena. Then again, if it were a Leaf ninja, they might be able to direct me to Sasuke. I wanted no part in this war. My goals were to protect the last remaining Uchiha, and then to replace my soul with another’s.

“I am an Allied Shinobi,” I said quietly. “A friend.”

To my great surprise, the voice that—eventually—answered was female. “How do I know you are who you say you are?”

I moved closer to the source of her voice. Not too far in, just a little to the east. “You don’t. I am unarmed, though, see?” I lifted my cape and spun slowly.

“You must think I’m an idiot if you’re trying to convince me you’re not dangerous just without weapons. Every ninja and their mom knows ninjutsu.” Her voice was cold. Dangerous.

“It’s a valid point, I won’t deny it,” I responded, “and my ninjutsu is better than most. But I promise, I won’t hurt you. I’ve come to help.” _Just not you._

There was silence as I continued to turn. Then, “Take off your hat,” she commanded.

I hesitated. I didn’t want to do it, but if she was an ally, there was no harm in it. I removed my hat.

She sucked in a feminine gasp of surprise. “You’re… blind?!” Her voice was incredulous and, I suspected, disappointed.

I tried my best smile. “You see? Not dangerous.” An outright lie. “And you?”

I heard her shuffling steps. She was limping, grunting with pain every time she stepped forward. “Injured. We must be the two most dangerous ninjas on the field,” she muttered wryly. When she was close, I heard the rustle of clothing as she reached out her hand. “Tenten.”

I grabbed her hand and shook it firmly. “Shisui.”

“Sounds familiar,” she mused. “Which means you probably weren’t lying.” I liked her voice. It was clear, and rich.

“What would you have done if I was lying?” I asked curiously.

She barked a laugh. “Die,” she replied bitterly. “But I’m as good as, with this ankle. I twisted it in a fight. The bone’s sticking out.” She sank to the ground, her limit reached.

I had very limited knowledge of medicine, but I knew how to set bones. “I can help,” I offered.

“Really?” she asked, her voice quavering with the sound of a hope that she had denied, denied, and denied again.

“Yes,” I replied. “But we’ll need to get somewhere safer.” I reached forward to scoop her up.

I heard her scramble backward and yelp in pain. “What are you doing?” she shrieked in alarm.

I held my hands up to placate her, showing her I meant no harm. “I am going to carry you. You aren’t getting far on that ankle.” I set my jaw in a firm frown.

“But… you’re blind,” she protested.

I laughed. “But _my_ feet work, and yours don’t,” I countered. She didn’t have an answer for that. “I got myself here, didn’t I?” She didn’t have an answer for that either. “Just trust me, Tenten.” Still she did not respond. I guess I couldn’t blame her. “OK, I guess we can wait here, if you prefer, but the further we get away from the battlefield, the better.”

She was indignant. “Away? From the battlefield? But… my friends are out there!" 

I squared my stance and lost my patience. I had never had a whole lot to begin with. “Look,” I said hotly, “that ankle is badly injured. At this rate, it’s going to infect and fall off before you even _make it_ back to the battlefield. Even if you did make it back, you’re going to be a liability to your friends and useless on the front lines. They probably already assume you’re dead. Now,” I said, using a tone that would not be argued with, “ _you_ are coming with _me_.” I bore down on her where she had fallen in the grass and scooped her up despite her shrieks of indignation. “Shut up!” I hissed in her ear. “Unless you want your enemies to find you, too.”

She quieted and stilled in my arms. Perhaps she wasn’t stupid after all. She didn’t say much for a long time. I listened as the hammering of the heart in her chest, stark raving mad with fear at being carried by a stranger, faded to a peaceable rhythm. Just as not having sight increased the other senses, though, so too did her silence increase my last three. She was not very heavy, and happened to fit comfortably in my arms. Carrying her was hardly a chore. She seemed kind of small, perhaps less than five and a half feet tall. And she smelled… _wonderful_. Every woman I had ever met smelled of shampoo and fragrance, some flower or another. This one smelled of sweat and blood, the stink of a battlefield in which she was a participant and not a bystander.

I found that I liked that. I found myself breathing more easily, becoming intoxicated on the scent of a woman with the ability to kill something. The fact that I had never had a lover crashed into me like an asteroid—an asteroid that my feelings were killed by, since a blind and condemned man had nothing to offer any woman. I crushed the bundle of feelings that was just tentatively starting to test its wings mercilessly. Few Shinobi had the luxury of love, Itachi and I least of all.

“Your headband…” she began finally, trailing off.

“Yes?” I gave her my full attention, thankful for the distraction.

“It’s not the same as mine…” she said uncertainly.

“Which Village are you from?” I asked conversationally. I had assumed, for no good reason, that she had been from Konoha.

She shrugged. “Well, Konoha… but… every other Shinobi in the Alliance wears the Allied headband, like mine.”

Oops. An oversight on my part… due to the fact that I had no sight at all. Too late now. “Oh.”

Suspicion laced her voice. “You’re not one of the Allied Shinobi,” she accused me.

I feared I had broken her trust. For some reason, that kind of bothered me. “No,” I began carefully. “Well, yes, but…” I sighed. “I am a Konoha Shinobi.”

“I’ve never seen you before,” she went on.

“Probably not,” I agreed. An idea popped into my head, one that wasn’t entirely untrue. “I was stationed away from the Village.”

“You’re lying,” she accused again. She sounded more sure of herself now. “A blind Shinobi on a mission outside the Leaf Village? It sounds like there are more questions surrounding your history than answers.”

I couldn’t decide if I was pissed off or impressed. I was pissed off because I didn’t want to answer all of her questions. It’s not that I was particularly worried about keeping my identity a secret anymore, but questions were uncomfortable, and the answers weren’t pretty. I was impressed because she was asking them, and doubly impressed that she didn’t seem nervous.

“Tell me about you,” I bargained, “and I’ll tell you everything about me.”

Because fuck it. Why not?

She scoffed. “You don’t want to know about me,” she grumbled bitterly.

That made me stop walking. There was so much… pain there. Why? It had been so long since I’d had a real conversation with a person that I found myself already particularly attached to this one. Her pain bothered me. Her bitterness, too. My flirting reflexes kicked in. I had always found that compliments and flirtation relaxed any woman. “Why wouldn’t I want to know about you?” I asked sweetly.

She paused again. She didn’t trust me. Well, she trusted me enough to carry her injured ankle away from the only people who cared to see her alive, but she didn’t trust me with her personal details. I found the contrast striking, and in the wrong direction. Was that a woman thing, to care more about the protection of one’s feelings than the imminent danger to one’s body? When she did speak, her voice was wary. “No one ever wants to know me,” she replied simply.

“You’re going to have to be a little more detailed,” I said dryly. I shifted the burden in my arms to get a better grip. She wasn’t very heavy, but she was sliding down nonetheless.

The little jolt seemed to wake her up a little. “If you don’t mind my asking,” she questioned quietly, “how is it that you can walk without seeing anything?” She seemed ashamed at having asked it, but curiosity had gotten the best of her.

I chuckled, and surprised myself by being completely at ease. “I’ve been blind for a very long time, Tenten. I suppose I’ve gotten used to it. My senses are sharp.”

“Do you mind that I asked?” she asked, confirming my suspicion that she felt guilty for asking.

I kept on smiling. “Not at all. I’m not embarrassed by it. Part of me is proud, in a way.”

That seemed to encourage her. “Were you born blind?”

“I believe,” I reminded her gently, “that you were going to tell me about you first.” Maybe the curiosity of my blindness would squeak some answers out of her.

She slumped, crestfallen. Was she actually disappointed in not knowing? “Right,” she agreed, and started over. “Um…” she trailed off, not sure where to begin. She laughed nervously. “I’m sorry… no one has ever asked me about myself before.”

I felt a strange thrill at being the first to know. Unconsciously, I took another deep inhalation of the sweat and blood smell. “Take your time,” I said to her. “We have a good distance to go yet.”

“Okay.” She remained quiet for a ways, collecting her thoughts. Then, when she began talking, she went on at length. “Well, the furthest back I can remember, I grew up with a pair of ANBU that didn’t wish to have their own kids. They were always worried that they might die, you see, and their missions were really dangerous, so they thought if they had a kid that wasn’t theirs, that I’d be well looked after even if they did die.

“I grew up surrounded by Shinobi, mostly ANBU. The woman who masqueraded as my mother was graceful, beautiful, and brilliant. She had orange hair and the prettiest amber eyes. She was my first role model. She used to read me stories all the time about all the strongest kunoichi of the Leaf Village, and in the stories, Tsunade Senju was always my favorite. My dream was to be just like her… to be a legendary kunoichi, who had just as much power to save lives as she did to end them.”

I listened to her tale with growing awe. To hear her speak equally of life and death as if both were to be revered and respected… I could feel her passion, and found her story quite interesting. “Mm-hmm,” I hummed, letting her know I was listening. 

She went on. “When I was eight, my stand-in parents died. No one was really surprised. They’d taken on a pretty bleak mission in deep, hostile terrain. No one ever knew what happened to them, but they didn’t return. I like to think,” she added wistfully, “that they ran off together to start their own family, and left the Shinobi world behind.”

“ANBU deserting the forces?” I mused incredulously. “The penalty for that is—“

“Death,” she confirmed tonelessly. “Yes. Nonetheless, it’s nicer than believing they are dead already.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” I agreed, remembering the time I had begged Itachi to let me try Kotoamatsukami one more time before he killed us all.

“My ‘parents’ were dead, so they tried to pass me around, but I didn’t care for that. I ran away from my new fosters enough times that eventually the Hokage made the order to stop giving me to fosters.”

“So what did you do?” I asked.

“I lived like a fugitive,” she answered honestly. “I stole food, lived outside…” she sighed wistfully again. “I slept under the stars, fed myself with my own hands, and spied on Shinobi to learn their ways.”

My lips quirked in another smile.

“Of course, a lot of times, people just _let_ me steal the food,” she admitted. “I figured that out later. They were humoring me, letting me believe that I was alone. In reality, I had an ANBU shadow all the time, keeping an eye on me. Keeping me safe.” She didn’t sound unhappy about it. I surmised that she probably enjoyed the care for her safety, now, as an adult, more so than when she was a flight risk.

“I never formally enrolled at the academy,” she continued. “I just kind of kept going to classes. No one really questioned it, though come to think of it, I bet they knew all along and just didn’t do anything about it. It would make sense… allowing me to get all the training I needed to be a Shinobi without a parent to fill out the paperwork.”

She was silent for a moment, probably considering what to say next. “Pretty sure my team is a team of rejects,” she said. She didn’t sound bitter or offended by it, just truthful. “Neji is—was—a member of the Hyuuga branch family, which meant that either no one wanted to bother with him as a student and that he was a real pain in the ass.” She sounded amused as she said it, but sad, too. I made a note to ask her about that, and about the verb tense change, but didn’t wish to interrupt. “And Lee… Lee can’t learn ninjutsu or genjutsu.”

I startled. Was there such a thing? There were many who were inept at Shinobi techniques, which was why not everyone was a Shinobi, but… that there might be someone out there that was simply unable made no sense. Every living being had chakra in their bodies, and every living thing possessed the ability to focus it into _some_ kind of power, even if it was just a blast of air. “What about you? You don’t seem like a reject to me.”

She laughed softly, and I felt the hum of the vibrations against my chest. “I’m not part of one of the prestigious families of Konoha, my chakra control sucks, and I’m a girl.”

“So?” I shrugged.

I felt her confusion. “So?” she repeated. “What do you mean, so?” She bristled, as if insulted that I thought she might be special. I didn’t quite understand why, but I let her defuse herself. “I was pretty dismal as a prospective student with a narrow skill set, and everyone still believes that girls can’t be good ninjas.”

I smirked. “Who said that? Not me!”

“But—“ she cut herself short, unsure of what to say, all that indignant fury burning within, but with nowhere to go. She knew I was right. I’d said none of those things, and it was a waste of energy to direct her wrath toward me. “I suppose,” she relented.

“What _can_ you do?” I asked instead.

“Me?” she asked, shocked. Then her tone adopted an obvious sense of pride as she answered, “I’m the best there is when it comes to weapons. One hundred targets, one hundred bullseyes.”

She was preening from within the cage of my arms. I couldn’t help but smile. “Impressive,” I murmured appreciatively. “Wish I could see it.”

“I’d be happy to show you sometime,” she offered, then realized her mistake. She had forgotten that I was blind. “Oh! I’m sorry! So sorry! I mean it, I’m really sorry.” She was apologizing profusely, concerned that she had been somehow rude.

“Why?” I asked, amused. “Did you take my eyes?”

She paused. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and sympathetic. “So you weren’t born blind, then… were you?”

I guessed it was my turn to talk. “No,” I said somberly. “I was not born blind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps you are thinking, "What, random romance? WTF?" 
> 
> There's a REASON. I promise!
> 
> (And lol at the most cracked out pairing evah).


	13. Itachi or Tenten?

_**“** **Some folks arrive into our lives and depart footprints on our hearts and we are in no way ever the very same.** **” –Flavia Weedn** _

* * *

 

I took a deep breath, prepared to tell her my story. “I grew up in Konoha and lived with my father,” I told her. “My mother died when I was little. Some old buzzard stole one of my eyes when I was fifteen. I gave the other one away that same day. Then I left the Village and moved south until I heard my friend had died, and now I’m here.” I ended it there, suddenly shy to be talking about myself. Her story seemed so interesting and innocent. Mine felt… dark and complicated. What if I told her and she didn’t like me?

Why did I care if she liked me or not?

Some time passed before she spoke. When she did, she sounded irritated again. “Wait… that’s it? I just laid out my life story and yours is as shrouded in mystery as Kakashi’s!”

“Hm?” I asked, confused. I had no idea who Kakashi was.

She scoffed. “Nevermind. But look,” she said. Then she punched me in the chest and broke free, landing in a carefully executed somersault to avoid further injury to her ankle. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me who you are.” I heard the metallic ring of weapons being extracted.

I wanted to laugh. I didn’t know if she was serious, but I doubted it. What she didn’t know, though, was that I wasn’t going any further anyway. “Sit,” I commanded. “I need to dress that ankle.”

“Absolutely not!” she squawked. “Tell me who you are!”

I sighed. “If you sit, I’ll tell you who I am.”

She laughed without humor. “No. You already made me one deal and you broke it. I’m done bargaining.”

Outwardly, I frowned. Inwardly, I was thoroughly entertained. This woman had a lot of spirit and spunk for someone with a life threatening injury. If the compound fracture infected, she might lose the whole foot. If left untreated, the rot could turn septic, and she might die out here alone. It had to be agony even when she wasn’t standing on it, and yet she spoke nonchalantly as if it didn’t bother her, and she even had enough leftover energy to argue with me. Truly, I was impressed, but enough was enough. “Sit or I’ll leave you here,” I said more sternly.

She hesitated. “You wouldn’t.” 

I pursed my lips and rested my hands on my hips. “By your own mouth and actions I’m a stranger and not your ally. I have no responsibility for your fate.”

She huffed. “By your mouth you’re my friend, and like it or not, my death would be on your conscience. I’ve done nothing to deserve your enmity.”

She was right. Oh well. I continued to put off answering her though, and made ready to treat her ankle. I made it clear I wasn’t frightened of her brandished weapon and turned my back to her.

She yelped, thinking that I meant to leave her. “You won’t really, will you?” she asked, uncertain.

I shook my head. “No.” I didn’t have any cloth, gauze, or bandage. It had been a long time since I had carried field supplies. “Do you have any wrappings for a wound?”

“No,” she answered, sounding relieved that I wasn’t going to leave her after all. “I used it all on my teammates days ago.”

I was worried about that. The only thing I had to wrap a wound with was the coverings over my eyes. They must look gruesome, but I had no choice. I unwound the cloth around my head. I heard her sharp intake of breath; she must have been nervous to witness the damage. Then, I walked to the creek that we had stopped near—the reason that this was as far as we were going today—and scooped a cupful of water with my hand. I sniffed to make sure that it wasn’t carrying the decay of dead human—that could kill her. Then, I dipped the bandages in and returned to her.

“Actually,” she said conversationally, “your eyes don’t look that bad.”

I shrugged and sat cross-legged, then patted the ground next to me. “I’ll chat when you sit down. I prefer to work while I talk. We shouldn’t waste any more time avoiding caring for this ankle. I can tell by your actions that it has gotten pretty bad.” It was beginning to smell, too, and that was _never_ good.

She sighed, then sank to the ground uncomfortably next to me. “It is, isn’t it?” She sounded resigned.

“Mm,” I agreed. I reached out gingerly and found the foot in question. She hissed with pain as soon as I touched it, gentle though I was. “This will hurt. A lot. I’m sorry.” I felt along the fracture, trying to determine where it had broken, and where the skin was mangled. I’d need to push the bone back in. She moaned with every touch, but I could tell even that was only because of how brave she was. Anyone else, even a man twice her age, would be crying, wailing with pain, probably.

“My name is Shisui Uchiha,” I told her in a flat tone as I began dabbing at the wound carefully with the rag.

“Ahh!” she cried out as the cold water stung the open wound. I felt her twitch violently, involuntarily reacting to the pain.

“Hold still,” I cautioned. “I know it’s hard, but try.” With painstaking care and precision, I cleaned the break as best I could. I needed to wash the rag a few times, but proper cleansing was key. If it wasn’t cleaned well, the inside of the fracture could be infected, and she’d lose the foot anyway. I wished I’d had alcohol, but unfortunately I wasn’t much of a drinker.

“Uchiha?” she ground out from between teeth gritted against the pain. “As in, related to Sasuke?”

“Yeah,” I responded. “From the same Clan.”

“All the Uchiha are dead,” she argued.

“’Fraid not,” I retorted. “And Madara is still out there, too.” 

“And Obito,” she added.

I paused. “Obito?” Then I thought better of it. He’d been some kid that had died years before I supposedly did. If he was alive, I’d need to talk to him, too, I supposed.

“Yeah,” she confirmed.

“Hm.” Obito. Alive. How very interesting.

“So. Shisui.” I quirked an eyebrow. I could feel her eyes, watching me. “How is it that you managed to survive the Massacre?”

I grimaced at the macabre name. “Because I was pronounced dead before it happened.”

I heard her gasp of horror as she finally remembered. “You don’t mean…! You’re… you’re _that_ Shisui? _Itachi Uchiha’s_ best friend, Shisui? The one that he _murdered_?!”

I was nodding the whole time she had been speaking. “One and the same,” I confirmed as I finished cleaning her ankle. She seemed distracted enough as to stop whimpering in agony.

“But, how?” she asked, incredulously. 

I shrugged as I went to the creek to wash the bandages one more time. “I faked my death and wrote a suicide note,” I told her. “Apparently everyone believed it, so yay me. Who’s the one telling the story anyway?”

“Sorry,” was her sheepish reply.

I smiled. “Itachi and I were best friends, like brothers almost,” I went on. “He and I were a good team, both very skilled, and devoted to peace.”

She snorted. “That’s not what I heard,” she contradicted. “Itachi slaughtered your whole family. How’s _that_ for peace?”

In mean spirited fashion, I held her calf, pressed three fingers upon the jutting bone and quickly jerked her ankle, setting the bone. She yelled so loudly that Madara probably heard it and tried to pull her foot back, but I held fast to her leg so that she couldn’t escape and risk undoing my work. “Breathe,” I demanded unkindly. She gasped huge gulps of air, crying and sweating and weeping obscenities at me.

Finally she stilled, panting. “Bastard,” she spat.

I smiled sweetly at her and delivered a mock bow. Then I grasped the ankle gently but firmly and began to wrap. “You don’t know Itachi,” I told her, adding steel to my voice. “And until you do, you won’t ever speak unkindly of him in my presence or I will kill you. That I _do_ promise.”

“ _Alright_ , I’m _sorry_!” she protested. “You’re such a grump!”

I smiled sweetly and changed my tone again. “Good. Now then. Itachi and I grew up together, trained together, joined ANBU more or less together, and were conspiring together. The Uchiha were planning on going to war with the Hokage to take over governing the Leaf Village. Itachi and I were the only Uchiha working against the Clan.”

“Oh.”

“I had an ability, bestowed upon me by my Sharingan, that would allow me to persuade others to do as I wished.” As the words came out of my mouth, they kept pouring and pouring out on top of one another. I was bewildered at the phenomenon; it was as if I had never spoken before in my life and now sought to make up for lost time. Unfortunately, only half the cat was out of the bag, and I couldn’t stop until I was finished pulling it out. “I tried to use it to convince my Clan to stand down. I failed. Danzo, one of the elders of Konoha, found out and intercepted me to steal my eyes. He managed to get the right eye,” I said as I finished my bandage tie and pointed to the empty socket.

My work finished, I stretched out on my back next to her and laced my hands behind my head. “And then, knowing he’d be back for the other one, I gave it to Itachi. My presence in Konoha would have been dangerous for him and for me, so I left. Soon after, he carried out his order and slaughtered the Clan.”

“An order?” She sounded genuinely surprised, but it was a rhetorical question.

I nodded anyway. “He had no idea where I had gone, and it would have been near impossible for me to find him, so I waited. And I waited. And eventually, I heard that he had died.”

“Right,” she said to herself, remembering.

She was waiting for a conclusion, though, and I didn’t have one yet. “You want to know why I’m here.” It wasn’t a question. She answered ‘yes.’ I sighed. “Sasuke is all that is left of Itachi. I came to make sure he knows he is not alone, and I will do my best to keep him safe. Also, in a way, he’s kind of like a cousin? Or a little brother? I want to know him.” It was half the truth. I didn’t mention the bit about restoring Itachi. It would have to be enough. I waited for her reaction, if there was one. I’d finally revealed myself.

“Thanks,” she said after a time, “for wrapping my ankle.” Her voice was soft, and sweet, and filled with gratitude. In contrast to the aggressive, passionate, and ornery Tenten, I liked it very much. Something twisted in my gut, and I suddenly felt nervous. I’d never wanted a woman this way, but though I was unfamiliar with the sensation, I had a vague idea of what it was. I wanted her, the way that any man would want a desirable woman.

“Hey, no problem,” I said with a smile. “That’s what friends are for, right?” Well. This was unexpected. And now, because I had been denied human contact and denied female company for so long, the urgent _need_ came roaring to life like a wildfire. Senses sharpened by blindness honed their edges on her. My ears caught every trace of her many moody tones, and I heard every casual, easy breath, the soft and steady heartbeat in her chest. I drank in the scent of blood, sweat, and war and tasted, tasted, tasted. I wanted to lick the sweat from her skin and smell the blood in her hair. I wanted to pin her down and force her spirit into submission beneath the will of my own. _Needed_ to assert my dominance over her, bite her, _take_ her…

“Now what?” she asked uncertainly. “How long do you think this will take to heal?”

“Too long,” I told her honestly. “You’re out of this war.”

“No, I can’t!” she spluttered. “Lee and Guy are still out there, and all of my friends. And Neji…” she bit her tongue and stopped speaking. The familiar wash of sadness darkened the conversation.

I remembered, then, that I had wanted to know. “What happened?” I asked her.

She didn’t answer, not for a long, long time, a moment suspended in air. I heard her head tip back against the tree with a thud. “He died,” she answered finally, her voice wracked with pain. Then, she whispered, “I thought I loved him, once.”

“I’m sorry,” I told her. There wasn’t anything else to say.

“Thanks,” was her only response.

I wanted to hold her. I _really_ wanted to hold her… and tell her that it would get better with time. I didn’t know who she had in her life that might make her feel better, but she had told me she had no family, and it seemed that the war might claim most if not all of her friends. Would she truly be alone, when all of this was over?

Not if I could help it.

I stood up and dusted myself off. “Hey!” she exclaimed. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

The vulnerable timbre in her voice tied anchors to my toes. I had to mentally shake them free, lest I forget my purpose. I had promised to bring Itachi back. There was nothing for me here. In a short while, I’d be a whisper of a memory at best. It did no good to harbor any attachments. She was not for me, nor I for her. “Tenten,” I said to her gently, willing her not to get up. “I have business to attend to, and you’re injured and must stay here. I untied the small packet that held my rations and left her enough supplies. I pointed at the creek. “There’s water, there. It’s not befouled, and should be safe to drink. Smell it, though, before you try. There’s a chance that there might be dead bodies upstream.”

“Okay,” she said meekly, all traces of fight gone from her. Something about that was wrong, wrong, _wrong_. 

“My pack contains some fish and rice. Can you make a fire on your own?”

“Yes,” she answered simply.

“Good. You should have enough food and water for a long time, if you ration it carefully.” I started to walk away.

“Shisui!” she shouted with alarm. I stopped. She hesitated, though, so long that I almost left without hearing what she had to say. “Are… are you coming back?”

Her words pierced my heart, in more ways than one.

The loneliness that lent an edge to her voice called to mine. I had forgotten, in a way, how lonely I was and had always been. I’d only had my father and my only friend had been Itachi, and neither one of them had been as lively as Tenten. My father had been stoic and reserved, and Itachi had trained himself to be cold and distant. Still… I had been satisfied by the connections I’d had before, so why should I be dissatisfied now? It was like all of a sudden a switch had been flipped, and I was starved for attention.

The fact that she _wanted_ me near her was enough to make me want to stay. Had anyone ever really wanted me around, just because I was me? The answer was no. Perhaps that would have been enough for Itachi or for my father, but I’d had other uses for them. For Itachi, I was his partner, comrade, and co-conspirator. For my father, I was the embodiment of his dreams and the memory of my mother.

What was I… to _her_? Just a friend, and a slipshod medic she hadn’t even asked for.

But the last thing that really drove a needle into the thick walls of my heart was the _fear_. She didn’t want to be alone, and would rather have anyone there at all that she could at least trust not to slit her throat in her sleep, and in my case she didn’t even have a whole lot to go on. I’d proven I was a liar, a traitor, and a friend to murderers. And still, she wanted me to stay. Did she trust me to protect her?

 _Are you coming back?_ The emotionally charged question still rang in my ears. I had not planned on it. My body would walk onto the battlefield within my control, but it would walk off with a new owner’s soul in it. But… how _could_ I say no?

A giddy, selfish desire gurgled up in my chest. In two swift strides, I was near her. I knelt, coltish, and grasped both of her hands between mine. I kissed them, and then I kissed her on the cheek and whispered into her ear, “Of course I will.”

I felt the skin of her cheek heat beneath my face and the air from her lungs escaped, but for once I’d left her speechless. I was out of sight before she regained her composure.

“Shisui? Shisui! Stop, please, Shisui!” And then, with growing panic I had to force myself to ignore, “ _Shisui_! _SHISUI_!”


	14. Introspection

_**“What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies.” --Aristotle** _

* * *

 

As I walked, I spent my time thinking about my life. I hadn’t done that in a while, I realized.

All up until this point, my existence had been about the pact that Itachi and I had made when we were little more than children. There was no shame in that. He was my only friend, the closest thing I had had to a brother, and my rival. I had idolized him and followed him blindly, and it was because he was a brilliant, bloody genius and a god among ninjas. He said ‘jump’ and I’d ask ‘how high?’ I had formulated my structure for life around the words that he uttered, and I had done so gladly. I still had no regrets.

I had spent the better part of the last half a decade hiding. While in Mienai, I whiled away my time decoding the scroll, staying hidden and out of the way, and perfecting the art of war for one without eyes. I kept training in secret, preparing myself for the day when Itachi might call upon his most faithful soldier to aid him in his time of need.

I was ready…and he had never called.

Itachi had never looked for me. I began to wonder if he ever decoded the note that I had gave him. The one which read:

_“I’m tired of the duties. There is no future for the Uchiha and for me. I cannot walk out the path anymore.”_

The one, which, when rearranged, read:

 _“Death a rumor. In truth, I watch out for you, incompetent hero. Faith in me. End hate for Sasuke. Hide left.”_ It should have told him everything I had needed to say. “I’m not dead, and await your next command. I will decode the scroll. Do you what you must for your little brother. Keep my Sharingan safe from Danzo.”

Now that I was thinking about it, I was actually quite upset. Had he known, and never tried? Or had he tried, and failed? Or, had he never known? The answer to any of those questions cast doubt on Itachi’s character. If he had known, and never tried, then perhaps he didn’t value my friendship and dedication. He had therefore abandoned me and sought his own fortune. If he had tried, and failed, what did that say about his talents? I wasn’t that hard to locate, when you got down to it. If he had never known, it meant that either he had never been shown my note or that he had not decoded it. I was the cryptanalyst, but he was… _Itachi_. I suppose that was most likely, but… it didn’t sit right with me.

Perhaps he wasn’t the friend I thought he was, after all. Had he just been using me this whole time?

Once I’d had that thought, the amblings of a malcontented brain knew no bounds. Like, why hadn’t I been a little more selfish? Why had I not seduced Ayumu away from Itachi and taken what I had wanted, instead of letting him have first dibs on everything? Why had I followed orders, instead of giving them? I was the elder, and furthest removed from the public eye between the two of us. It would have been easier for me to dictate our actions without being found out. Also, my personality was a little more… normal. If I had wanted Ayumu for myself, it would have been easy for me to smile and charm her, at least more than Itachi could have.

I found myself spiraling down an abyss of jealousy and exaggerated self worth. I had always wanted the things that Itachi had had. I’d been envious from the start. He had had a real family, real power, and natural talent, whereas I had a dead mother and a father with post traumatic stress disorder, power that came with time and practice, and talents that needed constant work and guidance to be anything special. He was everything I wasn’t. I had hated him, once, hadn’t I? Maybe I hadn’t been so wrong.

As my soul tore at itself in a frenzy, hating Itachi and everything that had happened to me because of him, I found my solace. I had been happy in Mienai, or close to it. I’d been comfortable and unbothered by the cruelties of the Shinobi world. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to go back to that?

And then I thought about Tenten. Her soft and frightened words haunted me, echoing in the recesses of my mind. “ _Are you coming back?”_ Maybe _she’d_ like to see Mienai. I remembered Ayumu and how I hadn’t taken her when I should have. I’d lost her to Itachi because I’d never really tried. I think now, perhaps, my failure is what led to my flirtatiousness.

I thought about taking Tenten, and I _hungered_. There was so much rich potential there. She represented everything that I _could_ have, if I but reached out and tried. All I needed to do was abandon my quest to reincarnate Itachi. That easy. Just walk away, Shisui, and let him stay dead. Then, you can woo Tenten, or any other girl for that matter, and be the center of someone’s universe instead of the orbiting moon. Give up your selfless quest for martyrdom and seize your part of the world. _Never let go._

I stopped walking and sank to my knees. Why now? Why was I having all of these thoughts and feelings and doubts _right now?_ The Shinobi world was on the brink of collapse, for if it truly was Madara that they faced, they hardly stood a chance without Hashirama to face him. I had no idea what the Allied Forces were planning, but I was willing to bet that they might lose without Itachi. The Sharingan would not be defeated without another Sharingan, and I wasn’t willing to pin my hopes and the fate of the world on Sasuke. Was I willing to risk the destruction of the ninja world as we knew it, in pursuit of my selfish dreams for happiness?

Could I _do_ that?

Itachi had shouldered the brunt of the burden when we were friends, taking all of the hurts and responsibilities upon himself, withholding the painful details and leaving me with the orders. And I had done them.

My throat constricted as I finally, blessedly realized what I had done. I had allowed my friend to bring suffering upon himself, and done nothing to assuage it. It had been _because_ I had followed him that I had merely let him torture himself with guilt. He had told me he was fine, and even knowing that he wasn’t, I had let him do it. I had simply walked away and left him to it. I was overcome with dismay at the realization.

It wasn’t Itachi that had been the bad friend. It was _me_.

“Sorry, Tenten…” I muttered to no one. “I am a liar, after all.”

I spent the long slow trek back to the battlefield wallowing in guilt. I felt terrible for having failed Itachi, and I felt even worse for abandoning Tenten. Itachi had understood, but _she_ wouldn’t. No one had ever taken an interest in her… wasn’t that what she had said? And here I had come, letting her believe she was special, building up her hopes, then dashing them to pieces and leaving her forever.

I wracked my brain, trying to think of some miraculous way that I could have them both, my misery doubling when I accepted the certainty that I couldn’t.

The scent of rotting flesh intensified as I neared, seemingly a mirror to the guttural ache I felt from within as a result of a self-loathing. By the time I reached the main theater, I felt as sick with grief as I was with the stench of death.

I felt by the wind and the unexplainable vertigo that I was somewhere high, perhaps a cliff overlooking the scene. But the sounds of war that assailed my ears were much quieter than I would have expected. A malevolent, deep male voice bellowed, thick with evil and promises of death. I assumed it to be Madara’s. On the other side of the coin were several prominent Shinobi voices… younger, more passionate, and determined. I didn’t know who they were, but I applauded them for standing up to the threat.

There was no reason to waste any time. Here was as good a spot as any. I had never performed this jutsu and I had no idea what the outcome would be. I only had the hand seals. If Itachi replaced me and had no idea what was going on, here was a good spot for him to see what was going on and collect information to know how to act.

I extracted the scroll from its usual place in my headband and spent a moment reviewing the seals. It didn’t have a name yet, but I had already thought of one. When I was finished, I tucked it away again and took a deep breath. Here went nothing.

_I, Ne, Tatsu, Tora…_

I felt power beginning to focus, deep within the cavity of my chest. It made sense… I was replacing my entire being with another person’s. The thought of it frightened and thrilled me at once.

_Uma, I, Tatsu, Hitsuji, Inu…_

My lips and toes went cold. I paid them no mind.

_Tori, Tora, Mi, Uma, Ne, Hitsuji, Tora…_

My chest continued to well with power. I felt hot, blazing from the inside out, while my skin and extremities went colder and colder.

_U, Tori, Saru, Tora, Uma, Ne…_

I felt as if I was no longer breathing. That was impossible, wasn’t it? To survive without the need to breathe? My chest felt as if it was paralyzed, and I could not draw breath. Despite that, I knew I was still alive. I carried on.

_Hitsuji, U, Ne, Tatsu, Saru, Tatsu, Tori…_

I felt my consciousness distance from the task I was performing. If I really focused, I was aware that I was still weaving hand signs. It was as if I had two pieces: a conscious, thinking, feeling—frightened—Shisui, and a Shisui who was all business, weaving the hand signs like a fool to sign our life over to an estranged friend.

I wove the first of the new hand signs, thumbs touching thumbs and fingers touching fingers like a small circle, wrists cocked so that the fingers were situated lower than the thumbs. It didn’t have a name that I knew of, but the effect was instantaneous. The world winked out, my ears felt plugged, and I felt as if the ground had dropped beneath my feet. I experienced the worst case of vertigo I’ve ever felt. I wanted to be sick, but I soldiered on.

_Ushi, Tora, I, Hitsuji, Saru, Tatsu…_

I had to have been on fire. There was no other explanation for why I felt so hot on the inside, like I was disintegrating from the inside out.

I wove the next of the unique hand signs, left hand flat, palm facing down, my right hand opening like a blossom palm up upon the left. Like a breath of fresh air, I felt relief. The heat in my chest subsided, and in its place, my chest pooled with a cool sweetness. I felt calm and happy, like the eye of a great storm.

_Tori, Ushi, Ne, I, U…_

I was exultant, a master of a power the world had never seen. My heart was full of song. If ever I was resistant to the idea of bringing Itachi back, my mind was made up now. This power could only bring good things to the world. There was nothing about it that was evil.

I wove the forty-third sign, both fists held together by the thumbs. I felt the door to the heavens open, revealing a secret to this jutsu: only those that had made it to heaven could be brought back. I suffered a moment of panic as I considered whether or not Itachi might not have gone there, but I suppressed it. No way did Itachi go anywhere else but here.

I wove the forty-fourth, both wrists crossed, palms open and hands flat. Eyes I hadn’t had in too long opened in this ethereal world. A dam released and I was standing knee deep in a shining blue river of souls. Pure chakra attached to pure hearts rushed past me on either side. I was awestruck. I could choose anyone in the world from this river, even the Sage of the Six Paths himself! I thought about it, honestly—what Shinobi, if given the chance, wouldn’t weigh all of his options?—but firmed my resolve and sought out Itachi. In this sea of madness, I had no idea how I was supposed to find him. I tried to observe the chakra stream as it flowed past me on either side, but it was impossible. There was no way I would find Itachi in this mess, unless…

I wove the forty-fifth. It was a monstrosity, with the middle and ring fingers touching at the tips and pointed downward, both little fingers forming a bridge between my hands, index and thumb creating a ring in each hand. A single chakra signature jumped out of the river like a trout. I reached out and grasped it with my hand, and the chakra jumped into my body. I had captured him.

_Uma, Ushi, U, Saru…_

I felt his presence within me like a golden beacon that has yet to be turned on, rich with potential if only someone would flip the switch. I smiled for my friend, and was filled with the overwhelming pleasure that only comes with giving someone the only thing you had left that held any meaning to you. I was giving him my last treasure, and I was pleased.

The fiftieth seal was an easy one: the meat of both thumbs pressed together, fingers pointed in opposite directions and parallel with my body. It reminded me oddly of the time when I had finally figured out how to hold the shuriken properly. Ironic... the very action that was the reason we'd said hello would be the harbinger of our farewell. The fiftieth seal breathed life into the soul bud that had been implanted in my body. He wasn’t awake yet, but he was there, unfurling like a fern head.

 _Ne…_ I felt my insides roil, partially in shock from the intrusion of a new presence. I ignored it.

Seal number fifty-two. I touched my thumbs together, locking index fingers and little fingers like a wrestle of antlers, my ring and middle fingers pointing inwards. Itachi’s figure appeared in front of me like a mirage, transparent and asleep. I felt my excitement bubbling up from my heart like a giddy child on his birthday. Only fifteen more seals to go, and Konoha’s flawless Shinobi would enter the battle. Minus eyes, of course. I had faith, though, that he might figure out how to be awesome without them.

_Saru, Tori, Ushi…_

His being solidified until we were both represented in this place without floors or walls by a whole and complete avatar. I had the feeling we were about to be free to speak together, and I suddenly felt very shy. What did you say to a friend you hadn’t seen in eight years? ‘Hello?’

Seal fifty-six and fifty-seven. Fingers steepled but interlocked. Then, a sign like Mi, but with little fingers standing straight up. His eyes flew open. “ _Shisui_?” He blinked at me. Then, abruptly, he laughed. “You have eyes!”

I grinned at him in response. “Itachi,” I greeted. “So do you!” We shared a laugh.

“What is this jutsu?” he asked with wonder as I wove the next three seals: _Inu, Saru, Tatsu._

Both of us shut our eyes and groaned aloud at the sudden influx of power. It flowed into us, through us, and around us. It was too much for any one person to contain, but just enough for two, beautiful and golden and filled with life. We smiled in unison, suddenly like children again, when everything seemed bigger and better than anything we would ever own. “Shisui…” he breathed. “This is…” the words died on his lips. He was speechless.

I knew what he had wanted to say, for I was thinking the same thing. The power that surrounded us was pure, beautiful, and perfect. Tears came to my eyes, unbidden. “I know, my friend. It’s awesome.”

He opened his eyes and looked at me at the same time I opened mine. “Shisui,” he began more seriously. “Where are we?”

I frowned. “I don’t know, Itachi. I don’t think this is a real place.”

He heard my words, and I saw him try to process. Then he asked, very quietly, sadly, staring at the palms of freshly made hands, “Shisui, what have you done?”


	15. Dead People

_**“There is a magnet in your heart that will attract true friends.** **That magnet is unselfishness, thinking of others first; when you learn to live for others, they will live for you.” – Paramahansa Yogananda** _

* * *

 

My phantom eyes widened, thinking he’d figured it out already as I wove the sixty-first sign, a seal that was much like Tora, but pointed downward with the thumbs tucked in. His eyes popped with alarm, and I think at that point he became certain. Even if the explanation was unnecessary, I wanted to tell him so that I could give voice to the sacrifice I was making today. “It’s a rebirth jutsu,” I told him, proud but sad, too, for I would not get to be there with him to enjoy another life. “I decoded that scroll we found.”

His eyes widened. “You… decoded the scroll? There wasn’t anything on it!”

“Nothing you could see,” I confirmed. “It was written in clear wax by and for the blind. I found it quite by accident. Izuna himself wrote that using it properly would lift the Uchiha’s Curse of Hatred.”

He started, alarmed. “Using it… you mean, you’re using it on _me_?”

 _Hitsuji_. I took a deep breath. I needed to finish this. I wove the sixty-third seal, an easy triangle made by resting the index fingers and thumbs together, palms facing out. “Shisui!” he cried out in alarm, reaching toward me. “You can’t!”

I gritted my teeth. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to fill him in on the news of the war, and of Sasuke, and of the scroll and everything else. Unfortunately, there really wasn’t any time, and I didn’t want him to try to talk me out of this. He usually won our arguments, and I had to win this one. With the formation of the sixty-fourth and sixty-fifth seal— _I, Tora_ —I felt my chakra being fed over to him. I was about to relinquish my rights to my own energies. He held his hands palm up and stared, amazed and horrified at what I had done and the new power flowing through him. His eyes brimmed with anguish.

I wove the sixty-sixth seal. The middle three fingers were steepled, the little fingers forming a bridge out front and thumbs forming a bridge at the rear. Nearly all of my chakra left me in a rush. All that was left was enough for me to take a few more breaths--my last breaths--and to weave the last sign. I definitely didn’t have time to dawdle now.

Beside me, I heard Itachi’s sharp exhalation of breath, a deep, exasperated sigh. His words rang in my head, but they were muted, as if my ears were plugged again. My pulse raced as if I didn’t have enough blood, my body fighting its panic. “You’ve always been so stubborn,” he said affectionately. Then, his features softened, both from the gradual blurring that meant my sight was failing me again, and from the gentling of his expression. “Thank you, Shisui. For _everything_.”

“Forbidden Sealing Technique: Soul Replacement Jutsu!” I wove the last seal. I’ll never be able to remember what it was without the scroll. At that point, I was a fizzy memory floating on a sea of chakra. I lost consciousness. The last thing I heard was Itachi’s muttered curse, and “Shisui, you _idiot_.”

* * *

 

Life snapped back to me like a cord had been cut. I staggered backward, patting the front of my shirt with bewilderment. I was alive. But how? Had I failed? I felt disappointment, sharp as any kunai, and I sank to my knees with despair.

“Shisui,” cautioned a voice. _My_ voice, but not from me. “Stay calm, Shisui,” he murmured. His hand reached out and steadied me.

Stay calm? _Stay calm?!_ My brain ran at top speed, trying to figure out what had happened. One second, I was sure I was dead, and the next… “What did you do?”

He sighed. “Were you so eager to give your life for me that you never spared a moment’s thought for how to save your own?” His tone was patient, almost condescending.

What was I missing? Was there a way to have saved myself _and_ Itachi? I thought I had thought it through pretty thoroughly, and yet, there he was, and here I was. Both of us were Shisui, and both of us were alive. Then, it dawned on me, and I laughed. My giggle started low and quiet, then slowly erupted into a belly splitting guffaw. When at last my laughter quieted, I spoke. “My Life Anchor,” I said to him. He told me ‘yes.’ “You made a shadow clone and used my Life Anchor! And then?”

He squeezed my shoulder. “I transported your soul into the clone.”

Now that I was awake, and conscious, I _could_ remember what had happened, like a dream I had just had.

 _“Shisui, you_ idiot _.” As my soul crumbled into its pure chakra form, Itachi merely reached out and grabbed ahold of my fleeing soul. “You think you’re the only one that wanted to save his friend?” My soul flailed and wriggled in his grasp, a slippery, greasy bundle of energy that should never have been able to be held. His grip was inhuman, though, and my soul could not escape, a true testament to his determination. He was defeating death with his will alone._

_“Your skills are admirable, my friend,” he murmured to himself. In relinquishing my chakra, I had also imparted my skills and how to use them to my body’s new owner. On the outside of our soul-world, the real Itachi housed in Shisui’s body made the sign, said the words, and summoned a Shadow Clone. A few more moments, and he had hit the clone in the gut with my Life Anchor jutsu, rendering it unable to leave the mortal plane until it died._

_Back on the inside, Itachi’s death grip on my free soul held fast. Then, he_ pushed _, thrusting my ethereal form out of my old body and into my clone. I had stumbled from the impact_ …

…and was now awake.

“Huh,” I mused aloud, stunned. I _had_ been a little stupid. It made so much sense now. Leave it to Itachi to find the flaw in my plan and fix it without even consulting me. What if I had _wanted_ to die? Martyrdom was a good way to go! That’s not what you tell the friend that saved your life—again—so I said something different instead. “Thanks, Itachi.”

“Hn,” was all he said. Then, abruptly, he swore.

“What?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “Itachi?” I asked, nervous. I stepped into the space he had previously occupied, but I could no longer sense his presence. He was gone. “Itachi?” I whispered loudly, worried that he might be hiding for some reason.

Then, over the din of the war that yet raged below, I heard his voice from far away. “Shunshin! Use the Shunshin!”

My brow furrowed with confusion. What he said made no sense. The Shunshin was an ability bestowed by my Magekyou, which I no longer had. At least… that’s what I had thought. And yet, Itachi was now decidedly further away from me, and he couldn’t have gotten there any other way. Had I been wrong about _my own_ ability?

I gathered my chakra and tested the feel. He wasn’t wrong. There, waiting for me, was the Shunshin, patient and subdued like a child that would never have spoken until called upon. I could have kicked myself if the need were not so urgent. Itachi’s voice had sounded harassed, as if he were in the midst of a battle. Judging by the sudden jump to the place where Madara and the Allied Forces were fighting, he probably was.

No time to question the why or the how. I teleported with the Shunshin to his side. 

The world exploded into sensation. I heard the ringing of steel upon steel and the grunt of my voice as Itachi fended off an attack. I smelled the coppery tang of blood from nearby, freshly spilled. I heard the feminine gasp of concern as each blow connected. Somewhere close by, two older voices were in quiet conversation, probably attempting to come up with a strategy. And above it all, the loud voice that was probably Madara’s growled with impatience, “Who are you?”

For the time being, I was not being attacked, and I had already come to the conclusion that if Itachi had rushed here, then Sasuke must be involved. I moved toward the bleeding form behind him that he struggled to protect. I pressed my fingers to his neck and found a pulse there. “I…don’t understand,” he spoke, his voice labored.

“Don’t speak, Sasuke,” I said to him, for who else could it be? “Focus on not dying, and we’ll talk later.” My hands patted his body down, and I found a wound there that made my breath catch. I swore. “He’s lost too much blood,” I said to no one in particular. “I can smell it, for fuck’s sake.” I shook my head. Itachi’s little brother was dying, and there was nothing I could do. My meager bandaging skills would not replace the blood he had lost. “Is there a medic?” I snapped, my voice ringing out over their heads as if I was in command here.

“No,” said a rich male voice nearby and walking nearer at the same time that a female voice from further away said softly, “Yes.” The man’s footsteps stopped, and he emitted a gasp of surprise. The woman’s steps increased in pace, and before long she was kneeling next to me.

“Step back,” she ordered me, her voice calm and confident and not about to deal with any nonsense. I did as I was told, and before long I heard the pulsating vibrations of healing chakra. “Stay with us,” she ordered her patient gently. “You are not allowed to die. That’s an order.” Sasuke groaned as she tended him. Without her there, he would surely die. With her, his chances weren’t a lot better.

The man who had stopped moving sank to his knees. “Rin? Is it really…?”

She ignored him. The flow of her chakra never slowed nor wavered. “Stay with us,” she repeated. “I’m not about to let you die. Not today.”

Gradually, Sasuke’s groans of pain subsided, and his breathing calmed. I heard the rustle of clothing as he struggled to sit. “You shouldn’t move yet,” the sure woman’s voice told him firmly. “The jutsu is still weaving your insides back together. If you move they could rupture.”

“I don’t care about that right now,” he told her impatiently, not even bothering to thank her. “You,” he said, his voice turned toward me. “Who are you? And who is that?”

I hesitated, listening to the song of steel on steel. I had no idea how their battle was faring, but I could hear Itachi’s soft command of my voice, even with Madara’s constant bellowing and posturing. It seemed that Madara was gifted with far more arrogance than the rest of his clan put together, and not undeservedly, either. “That’s Itachi, your brother, in a copy of my body. I’m Shisui, his friend. Actually,” I corrected myself, “truthfully I’m a copy of my body, and he got the real thing.” I tried to smile at him, hoping to reassure him that everything was going to be okay.

Several voices nearby repeated our names as if tasting them for the first time. Their reactions varied, anywhere from bewilderment to amazement to outrage. What were we doing here, after all? Sasuke repeated my name as well, then his tone hardened and he asked, “Weren’t you killed? Itachi said you drowned.”

I grinned, proud of the trick I had pulled once upon a time. “Yeah. I have this special ability that lets me make clones permanent. The one that drowned was one of those. I’ve been hiding out in the south for some time.”

He paused, considering that. “That’s possible?” he asked finally.

I shrugged.

“And Itachi?” To my surprise, his tone didn’t indicate in any way that he still harbored any hatred for his brother. I wondered how that had all gone down. Surely, a story that started with a massacre and ended with forgiveness was an interesting one. I’d need to hear it someday.

I grimaced. “Now _that’s_ a long story, and one I’d rather tell you over a beer sometime. For right now, I hear there’s a Shinobi out there who thinks himself a god, and he’s hell-bent on killing us all, am I right?” I held out my hand to help him up. I angled my head, too, and spoke to his medic. “Rin, is it? Thanks, for helping out…I guess you’re kind of like my nephew?” I wondered aloud, meaning Sasuke. “Yeah. Thanks for saving my nephew’s life. You’re alright.” I flashed her my best smile and hauled Sasuke to his feet.

“Thanks,” he told her belatedly. We’d definitely need to work on his manners. He turned back to me. “Yeah,” he said to me. “This guy’s a real pain. If we’re going to beat him, we’re going to need to work together. And,” he added, “you’re probably going to need these.” His hand dove into his clothing and rummaged around. He pressed something cool and glass into the palm of my hand.

“What’s this?” I asked. It felt like a can of soda.

“My eyes,” he said with a tone that might have been smugness. “If we’re going to beat him, we’re going to need all the Sharingan we can get.”

Just like his brother, I thought with a wry smile. 


	16. Titans of Chakra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this around the time that chapter 661 was released. Admittedly... I have a hard time understanding the manga for lack of color... the pictures blend together and I get a little confused. Also, in case you didn't go "Yeah, ch 661! I know exactly what happened!" That's when Sasuke has been stabbed and is bleeding out like a bitch. :P
> 
> What I'm trying to say is... I wrote a battle. It might not be perfect canon, and you're probably going to lynch me for the ending. I don't care. :D
> 
> Also, it should be mentioned that I HATE writing battles, and usually avoid them. If you think I pulled it off, please let me know. This scene took a long time to write, and a LOT of editing.

_**“** **In a moment of decision, the best thing you can do is the right thing to do, the next best thing is the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing.” –Theodore Roosevelt** _

* * *

 

I heard Sasuke step forward to challenge Madara. “Shisui,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m going to relieve my brother. We’ll keep Madara busy while you and Itachi take care of those eyes.”

I quirked an eyebrow, stunned. Barely off his death bed, and he was already barking orders at me. Oddly enough, though, I found myself obeying. “Right!”

“Kakashi, Guy, Jugo, Suigetsu… with me.” I heard his slow, deliberate pace as he walked into the fray. Three voices, including the man who was currently on his knees, answered readily, as if they, too, were used to following his command. I doubted it; it was likely that they just needed someone to make the first move to have the courage to face Madara, and were otherwise paralyzed. The man who had been on his knees rose slowly, reluctantly, silently. “Itachi!” Sasuke’s voice called from further ahead. “Fall back! We’ll hold them for a while.”

Itachi was as used to following orders as he was to giving them, when the time called for it. He fell back. I heard his swift footsteps approaching, then slowing as he neared. “Shisui, I don’t envy you your blindness,” he told me grudgingly. I had dealt with the absence of my eyes for so long that I felt as if I could almost see as well without them. I was tuned into every footfall, every breath, and every smell. The world a picture painted without my favorite colors, but I could still see the picture.

“Well, then I have good news,” I told him, pressing the canister into his hand as Sasuke had done to mine. “Your brother seems to have had an extra pair of eyes.”

He only hesitated a moment before he barked, “MEDIC!”

The woman that was called Rin stepped forward. “How can I help?” she asked smoothly.

Itachi thrust the canister into her hands and rushed out in a low voice, “This container holds two eyes. I need you to transplant one of them into me, and one into my friend, here. Quickly!”

She set to work without argument or complaint. Her efficiency was appreciated. She worked on Itachi first, since he had given the order. I heard the thrum of chakra, the squishing sound of manipulated flesh and blood, and Itachi’s sharp intake of breath.

As she reached for me, I asked him, “How did you know that the Shunshin wasn’t a Sharingan technique?” I bit back a yelp as she broke open the blood vessels in my right eye socket so as to connect them to the eye.

“You don’t need to feel ashamed for your confusion, Shisui,” he told me patiently. “It’s a trick of the eye, illusory, and it awakened around the same time as your Mangekyou. However, I’d seen variations of your Shunshin in different nations during my time as a missing-nin. I didn’t think much of it until I awakened in your body, and I flexed all of the new abilities I possessed. Then, I heard someone yell Sasuke’s name as if it were an emergency, and I just… acted. My body practically moved on its own, and my body didn’t even have eyes.”

Rin jammed the eye into its socket. As the thrum of chakra sounded closer to my ears, vision suddenly happened, like a light bulb finally making connections. Color exploded onto the scene. The first thing I saw was the placid, concentrating expression of a beautiful woman with brown hair and eyes and purple markings on her cheeks. The hilts of two swords peeked out over her shoulders. When she was done knitting up the vessels of my eyes, she smiled at me. It was the friendliest, prettiest smile I had ever seen. Of course, I had yet to see Tenten’s.

And power bloomed in my breast like a sweet rose. This was a strong and wondrous eye. I smiled.

I gazed around in wonder, heedless of the war raging around me. I wager I was probably the only one who was happy to be seeing it. Nearby was the pool of blood that had been Sasuke’s; dark, deep red. There was another woman standing quietly, far away. Her hair was also red, but wild, like a forest fire. Her shirt was purple, lighter than the tattoos on Rin’s cheeks. Even the drab browns and grays of the landscape seemed vibrant to me. I looked over at Itachi. He watched me, his face as expressionless as ever, as if he wasn’t even aware he’d just received this wonderful gift.

Then, I turned my attention to the battle. Madara’s expression was menacing and hateful, and a great blue spiritual warrior apparently protected him. “What is that?” I asked aloud. I hadn’t expected anyone to have the answer; Madara was an ancient relic with powers unsurpassed. 

Itachi knew, though how he knew was anyone’s guess. “That is Susano’o,” he murmured. "It’s one of the powers of the Mangekyou.”

Madara stood with arms crossed, arrogantly unperturbed by the opponents he faced. Sasuke’s Susano’o was activated as well, but its color was purple. The two defense mechanisms roared and blazed with color and might. I watched as Sasuke wove hand seals and blasted Madara’s Susano’o with fire. A thin young man with white hair and sharp teeth was charging straight at Madara with a huge sword. At the last second, his body became water and he splashed upon the shell. I nodded appreciatively. It had been a good idea, that maybe water could breach what a human body could not. A taller, stronger man with silver hair followed next, his fist alight with blue electricity. I frowned, knowing he would not be able to penetrate the Susano’o, but it was a nice thought, anyway. Finally, the man in the green jumpsuit, blazing with a brilliant green energy, hit the outside of Susano’o with a flurry of roundhouse kicks and then a spray of punches. What technique was that? It was, perhaps, the strongest display of taijutsu I had ever seen. Of course, there still wasn’t a scratch on Madara’s defense.

The silver-haired man stepped back, and then a new voice called out. “KAKASHI!” I turned my attention toward him and saw a dark haired man in a black robe. Half of his body was black and creepy, the other half human.

The silver-haired man—Kakashi—leapt away from the battle and turned toward him. “Obito! Is Naruto…?”

“He’ll be fine. But he won’t wake up yet.”

The medic near me stood straight and tall. “I can help him,” she announced.

Two pairs of eyes swung her way. Obito’s popped in surprise. “Rin?!? That’s impossible! I watched you die!”

The pretty medic didn’t waver, and once again ignored all of the unspoken questions. I figured that these three knew each other on a personal level. Rin, apparently, was not supposed to exist. “Take me to him,” she ordered.

The two men hesitated, unsure what to do. She was not going to answer their questions, I wanted to tell them, until she had gotten her way. She was determined to be a medic, and they would have to satisfy their curiosity later. Eventually, they seemed to understand this, and both he and Obito joined her side. She unstrapped her swords and handed them to me. “You can use these, if you want. I will have no need for them.” Then, she smiled, and the three of them swirled into thin air, and then they were gone. I turned my attention to Itachi, asking the question, _where did they go?_

He shrugged and said, “Kamui,” as if that were all the explanation I needed. Then he stood and reached for my hand. I grasped it, and he hauled me to my feet. “Are you ready, my friend? We haven’t fought together in a long time.” He graced me with a smile that reached even his eyes. 

“Too long,” I told him happily. Itachi already had a sword, so I unsheathed both of Rin’s swords for myself. I had little experience with dual-wielding, but plenty of battle experience otherwise. “This is going to be a challenge, though. Are you up to it?”

“Hn,” was his only response to the jab. “Let’s go.”

Itachi and I had always been an excellent team. We had trained together, grown up together, and been as close as two friends could be. Now, we shared the same husk, the same pair of Sharingan, and the same abilities, and our thoughts might as well have been connected. Gripping both swords, eyes focused on the target before us, we activated the Shunshin in unison and rushed into the arena, twin mirages with deadly intent. We zigged and zagged, darting between comrades and obstacles like a blur.

We darted up the length of Madara’s Susano’o, slashing at all the apparent weak spots in its armor. The air around us was a cacophony of noisy sword strikes and a laser show of bright flashes. When we’d reached the top of the Susano’o mountain, our onslaught proven ineffectual, we sprang backward in a backflip and landed a short distance away.

 _Damn_ , I thought. Our attacks really had done nothing.

“Amaterasu!” Itachi declared, and black flames sprang up around Madara’s Susano’o. Itachi’s Susano’o whirled into being a moment later.

I wondered if I could do it, too, and tried. I was amazed to find that I could. Power soared through my being, and pain, too. Every one of my cells burned and ached like it was being pierced by a needle. I stifled a scream, and tolerated it. Around me, a skeleton jolted into being, surrounded by a halo of green chakra. I gazed in wonder at the thing I had done, but only for a moment. There was no time. I pushed even harder, forcing the monstrosity that had erected itself around me to complete its transformation, every ebb and pulse of chakra a hellish agony. I heard Itachi congratulate me from nearby. “Well done, Shisui!” I smiled at the praise. My Susano’o opened its palm, and an enormous war hammer with an oversized head of hellfire bloomed from it.

Madara’s Susano’o was taking a step back to avoid the flames of Amaterasu, but Madara himself still seemed nonplussed. The three of us—Itachi, his little brother and his best friend—stood in an unbroken line facing Madara. Chakra soldiers in red, blue, purple, and green towered overhead, a battle of titans on a field of broken stone. “Sasuke,” Itachi said to him. “We’re going to need to create an opening, then use the Totsuka Blade.”

“Yeah, I know,” came his tart reply.

“How very interesting,” Madara said as we four stared in a deadlock of blood red eyes. “To think that your war of the five great nations would come down to nothing more than a family argument. Hmph.” He shut his eyes and tipped his chin downward, arms crossed. “But I suppose that, since Hashirama can’t even defeat me now, perhaps the three of you… can _try_.” With that, the black flames of Amaterasu disappeared completely.

Beside me, Itachi seemed startled, but Sasuke broke in. “He has the Rinnegan, now. One of its powers is the ability to absorb chakra and ninjutsu. If we can’t catch him by surprise, even Amaterasu is useless.”

Now it was my turn to be startled. “The Rinnegan?! How?”

Sasuke spoke, his eyes never leaving Madara. “It is the natural final progression of the Sharingan, but only if you’re related to both Senju and Uchiha. That guy had some of Hashirama’s cells.”

“Look out!” Itachi shouted as Madara charged.

“Fire Style: Great Fire Annihilation!” A wall of flame erupted and shot toward us.

“Amaterasu!” It was Sasuke this time. The black flames sprang to life and consumed the red flames. Both fires roared, and my face burned from the heat. When the black flames won out, Sasuke extinguished his Amaterasu, just as Madara’s blue Susano’o appeared right before us, both blades extended and sweeping for us.

I reacted, Shunshin propelling me behind him. Sasuke’s Susano’o raised its shield and took the brunt of the attack, and he held as Madara’ pressed, pushing Sasuke backward.

I swung my ethereal hammer downward upon Madara’s Susano’o, and connected. There was a sharp _crack_ as my hammer crashed into the blue warrior shell, the corporeal form that supported it jolting as if shocked, then Madara peered over his shoulder, and I was knocked back by an invisible force. I regained my balance quickly, though, and Susano’o raised its arms to protect me. Itachi swung his blade, too, but one of Madara’s blades rose to connect with Itachi’s. A bright, magnificent flash of chakra burst into the air, blindingly bright. I saw my comrades and Madara blink from the brightness and cry out with alarm. All four of us were rendered temporarily blind.

Being blind was nothing new to _me_ , though.

I teleported to the air above Madara and came down upon his Susano’o with a vengeance. The behemoth that was the weapon of my Susano’o crashed into the helmet of his. There was a sickening crack. I had another idea, too, having watched Itachi perform it. I activated the Amaterasu. Unlike the roar of Sasuke’s Amaterasu, mine was as silent as the rest of my jutsu. The black flames spread out across the dome piece of Madara’s guardian, and I watched with satisfaction as they continued to grow.

I teleported back to Sasuke’s side and engaged in the duel between him and Madara. Together, we pressed his sword back. At that point, the flash spots from the collision earlier were dissipating. With his vision restored again, Sasuke pressed back even harder, and the Totsuka blade surged forward.

Madara’s sight had returned, too, though, and he sprang backward once again. The Blade pierced nothing but air. Sasuke cursed. Madara laughed. “Child’s play,” he spat. It was then, though, that he realized the damage to his Susano’o. “I guess it can’t be helped,” he shrugged as he released it. The enormous blue sentinel fizzled out. Despite losing his best defense, Madara still seemed unconcerned.

I found myself longing to wipe the smugness off his face. The arrogance was simply appalling. What’s worse, he was standing up to all three of us and holding his own. If this whole war was this man versus the five nations, he was clearly strong enough to win it. As if reading my mind, he answered, “I am risen from the dead. I cannot be killed, and my chakra is infinite. The three of you together still cannot defeat me. If you submit now, perhaps I’ll let you stand with me upon the ruins of this world. At least then, you can live. Continue this folly, and I’ll have to snuff out your existence. Consider it a favor, from your dear ancestor, Madara.” He smiled, a vile, ugly expression.

If he wasn’t lying, we’d be little more than servants to the devil himself when all this was over. Of course, that would be assuming that we lost. Judging by the stolid faces of Sasuke and Itachi, we weren’t about to let that happen. And besides, what motivation did Madara Uchiha have for giving us the truth?

“I can see by your faces that you don’t intend to give up. A pity.” His hands snapped together. “Wood Style: Deep Forest Emergence!” The ground rumbled, and tree roots surged forward, splitting rock outcroppings and sprouting green foliage, spreading death as well as life as it went.

“Fire Style: Dragon Breath Jutsu!” My hottest flames burst forth without a sound, enveloping the trees. Ash sprang toward the heavens above like a fountain, blotting out the sun. We were all once again blind. There was no time for hesitation. I lunged forward, my Susano’o protecting me still.


	17. Twist and Jerk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if you're about to hate me. *shrug* I guess we'll find out. ^_^

_**“A story to me means a plot where there is some surprise.** **Because that is how life is – full of surprises.” --** **Isaac Bashevis Singer** _

* * *

 

As if it could read my will, Susano’o dropped the war hammer. It vanished from existence before it hit the ground. I sprang forward, leaping over smoldering trees and cracked rocks. I had to keep my eye closed; the ash was too thick, and it would get in my vulnerable eye otherwise. Behind me, Itachi and Sasuke were coughing. They weren’t used to this.                                              

_But I was._

My senses sharpened, adjusting to the darkness once again. I heard the clatter of sandals upon flat stone. I smelled nothing but char and overturned earth. I slowed my steps as I felt myself near my target. I didn’t want him to hear my approach. He may not have been used to the prolonged blindness as I had been, but he was still a formidable opponent, and I couldn’t afford to underestimate him.

I felt the menace before I reached him. His Susano’o was back, lying in wait for whoever might see fit to attack him. “I knew one of you would try,” he growled.

Susano’o embodied my will. It entered its final transformation, pulling itself up out of the earth and standing upon two legs. I felt my body rise from the ground with it. Madara’s voice held the trace of a smile. “Impressive… Shisui, is it? Your Susano’o is almost as good as mine.”

“We’ll see, shall we?” I challenged. I struck, pouring all of my energy into controlling Susano’o. It responded to my thoughts, swinging its right leg around for a vicious kick to Madara’s.

The hands of his Susano’o rose instinctively to block my kick. My guardian pivoted, yanking its foot free from the block and swinging around behind. The right foot planted, and the left foot twisted, connecting in much the same way.

This felt so familiar…I was suddenly reminded of my first fight with Itachi, long ago, when I’d kicked sand into his face and come around from behind.

 _Yes_.

I teleported behind him once again, my Susano’o teleporting with me, rolling down into a crouch as I went. He felt my movement and reached behind to counter me, but I was too low to the ground. Susano’o kicked, planting a ghostly boot right into his behind. Madara and his shell pitched forward, and as he splayed out onto the ground, the blue titan winked out.

“RASEN SHURIKEN!” I heard a high-pitched whine, growing closer and closer. When I surmised that it was close enough to hit, I leapt out of the way. Something crashed into the rocks near Madara, and there was a screaming explosion of wind. 

I dared to open my eye. The area was clear, having been blown away by the attack. “Sorry I’m late,” said a brightly glowing yellow Shinobi. His smile was genuine and aimed directly at me. “But the hero’s always just in the nick of time! We’ll take care of this guy now once and for all.” Standing behind him were the rest of the people I had already seen, including a girl with pink hair whom I hadn’t. Her expression was one of relief, and she looked determined to fight as well. Itachi and Sasuke were walking up, too, their arms supporting each other. The Susano’o must have worn them both out.

Madara had pushed himself to his knees. He was laughing. “Don’t count me out just yet,” he said calmly.

Pain erupted in my chest, and I fell to my knees. Susano’o imploded, jerking itself back into my body in one painful shock. I cried out and crashed, barely getting my hands under me in time as my body betrayed me. In a moment, Sasuke was there, supporting me. “Easy, Shisui,” he said, sounding much more compassionate than he had when I’d first seen him. “Susano’o uses a lot of chakra. It’s dangerous, especially the first time.” It made sense, then, why he’d rushed to help me. He must have only acquired it recently himself.

“Cool it, Naruto,” said the pink-haired kunoichi. “You were nearly a goner because of this guy, or had you forgotten?” 

“Aw, Sakura, you ruined the moment!” the human candle protested. “You made me look so uncool in front of these guys!”

They proceeded to get into a heated, if playful argument. Who was this kid? I asked Sasuke. “What’s with the goof on fire?”

Sasuke sighed, a long-suffering exasperation. “He used to be my teammate. Naruto Uzumaki. He thinks he’s going to be Hokage someday, and he’s a total pain.”

“He any good?”

Sasuke’s frown quirked, just for a second, and then he helped me to my feet. “Fortunately, yes. He’s the Leaf Village’s jinchuuriki, and holds the Kyuubi.”

“Oh! Well that’s good, then.” I dusted myself off.

The two Leaf Shinobi were done arguing, it seemed. I looked over in their direction. The expression on the goofball’s face was replaced with a new one. It was somber, filled to the brim with a calm fury. I shuddered to see it, and it wasn’t even directed at me. Oh no, for all this kid’s wild antics and sunny personality, he was not one to be messed with, ancient Uchiha with godlike powers or no.

“Shadow Clone Jutsu,” he said quietly. Two copies of him appeared, and he held both of his hands out, palm up. Without taking his eyes off of Madara, a swirl of blue chakra coalesced between the hands of his clone and his hand. I watched with fascination as the chakra swirled into a ball of powerful energy, spinning faster and faster until it became the projectile that had keened past my head and dissipated the ash from our fight.

Naruto poised himself for a strike. “Alright, everyone. Here we go!”

Just as he charged forward though, there was a muted _snick snick snick,_ and the points of three kunai burst through the throat of Madara. His purple Rinnegan eye sprang open in surprise. Blood belched forth from his mouth. There was a jingle of chain and then, just as quick, the much larger point of a sickle jutted forward from the same area. With a violent jerk, a feminine grunt of effort, and a ringing of iron links, the head of Madara ejected itself from his body, peppered my face with his blood, and rolled across the rocks.

There was nothing but silence.

I looked beyond, certain already of what I would see. Tenten was stalking forward, the perfect picture of female wrath, her small fists balled at her sides. Her teeth were bared, and she was advancing… toward _me_. 

I couldn’t help it. I took a step back, then another one. My heel hit a stone, and I stumbled backward. A more distant consciousness laughed at me; I had just faced Madara Uchiha, one of the most powerful Shinobi of all time, without hesitation or trepidation, and here I was retreating from an angry woman.

To be fair, she _was_ the woman who had just viciously killed Madara Uchiha.

“ _Shisui_ …” she snarled, stepping over Madara’s corpse as if it were merely an inconvenient obstacle and not a twitching corpse and launching herself onto me. Her weight carried me even further back, but she twisted her tiny fingers into my shirt and yanked me forward. It had not even fazed her that she had murdered Madara, nor that I apparently had an eye now. She brought her face within an inch of mine and spoke with pure, undiluted venom. “You said you would _come_ _BACK_!” Her voice was dangerously soft.

“Um… what?” Naruto exclaimed. I heard the high-pitched squeal as his chakra masses dissipated.

There was another sound, and I could see the purple glow of Sasuke’s Susano’o from beyond the frightening halo of Tenten’s hair. I guessed that Madara, even dead, was worth sealing away forever, and that Sasuke had guessed the same thing.

It meant I could turn my attention back to the woman who was way too far into my personal space. “I was _going_ to come back,” I told her. Then, I remembered everything that had transpired since I’d said that. I had not actually intended to return. I was sure I was marching to my death when I had said that.

“Liar,” she hissed, her face a mask of pain. “I know what a face looks like when it’s lying. I know what a face looks like when the person wearing it has decided to die.”

I searched her eyes—beautiful, brown, deep fathomless eyes—and saw just more mystery hiding there. She wasn’t telling me something, and whatever it was, it was important. She was panting. Had she been afraid for me? I felt a twinge of guilt in my gut, mixed with… something else. I noticed her entire face, then, as if for the first time, and it soothed me. “I knew it,” I murmured, quietly enough that only she could hear.

“Wha?” She blinked, confused.

I touched her face then, marveling at finally being able to see it. “I knew you were the most beautiful woman alive.” I kicked her knees out from under her, and she fell upon me. I had always been fast, and I snaked my arms behind her back and held her in close, kissing her.

She squeaked and resisted, her entire body lying to her when her lips would not. She was enjoying it, but anger was winning out, and before long, she had squirmed free. I watched her scramble backward, the look in her eyes feral and frightened. I let her go.

Around me, voices were erupting in multiple tones of distress.

“WHAAAAT?!?” Naruto screeched, shocked at what had just transpired. “First she comes out of nowhere and just beheads that guy, then she’s kissing this guy with a Sharingan who I have literally _never_ seen before— _In my life_ … and he looks just like _that_ guy!” He pointed emphatically at Itachi, his eyes bugging out with distress. “Who I _also_ don’t know who the hell he is…!” His tirade continued, but I tuned it out.

“Hmph,” was all Sasuke said. “Idiot.”

Itachi said nothing. He had merely lowered himself to the ground for a well-deserved rest.

“Shisui… Uchiha…” Kakashi was saying, as if trying to figure out my story. His gaze swung back and forth between Itachi and me, trying to discern what was at work here.

“That was anticlimactic,” Suigetsu scoffed. “I was sure I’d be the one to cut his head off. But, I guess it can’t be helped.” He shrugged and sighed, sounding genuinely disappointed.

“It’s over,” Guy stated simply. “I don’t care how simply he died. All that matters is that he is gone, and we can finally move on. And it is good to see Tenten is okay and that her youth… has blossomed even more!” His fists curled with excitement.

Rin and Obito were strangely silent. I wondered what was going on beneath their unreadable expressions. Rin was watching Kakashi. Obito was watching Rin.

“How romantic!” Sakura was saying. “I didn’t know Tenten had a boyfriend.”

“He is _not_ my boyfriend!” Tenten suddenly shrieked, brandishing one fist. She stiffened with rage, every hair on her body standing on end like an angry cat.

Then, abruptly, she collapsed. She dropped to the ground heavily, twitching slightly. Sweat broke out upon her perfect brow. I rushed to her side. “Tenten!” Some of the gathered Shinobi followed, but Sakura and Rin shoved them all out of the way to get to her.

It was then that I learned that Sakura was a medic, too. The two women looked at each other, then nodded in unison, automatically accepting the other as a teammate.

“Shisui,” Sakura barked at me. “Remove your shirt and roll it up. Place it under her calves, there.” She pointed, and I did as I was told.

Rin was checking her vital signs. She opened her eyelids and peered in, pinched her wrist, and placed a hand upon her forehead. “She’s in shock,” she announced quietly.

“Why?” Sakura asked her without removing her eyes from the patient.

“She had an ankle wound,” I piped up. “Compound fracture. I cleaned it, set the bone, and wrapped it.”

Rin and Sakura sucked in their breath in unison. “She walked on that?!” Sakura exclaimed. “Well no wonder!”

I tried not to be offended that neither of them had praised me for my first aid knowledge.

“She must have been really angry with you,” Rin said quietly. I squawked and rushed to defend myself. “Or,” she cut in, her eyes darting my way, “she was _really_ worried about you. What is your history with this girl?”

I shrugged. “There isn’t one, really. I found her out there with that wound, I treated her and I came here.”

“There’s no time,” Sakura said impatiently, shaking her head. 

I tried not to be offended again. 

“Right,” Rin said in response.

They moved quickly. Rin undid Tenten’s buttons to make space for her to breath properly. Tenten’s eyes rolled and blinked slowly. “Speak to her, Shisui. Keep her calm,” Sakura told me. She moved to Tenten’s ankle and began administering healing chakra.

I felt suddenly awkward, but when medics give you commands, you listen. I leaned over her face and captured her eyes. “Hey, pretty girl,” I cooed, smoothing sweaty hair from her face. This close, I was reminded of the scent she gave off that had captivated me before. It was a nice smell for a woman… the scent of hard work and battle. She wasn’t weak; she had traveled all the way here on a grievous injury and taken down a Shinobi that all of us put together hadn’t. It was nothing short of miraculous, and she shouldn’t have been able to do it. It was like the blind luck that had saved me from my clone in the Naka River… sometimes, a Shinobi loses to superior skill, but sometimes it’s just a freak accident. We were all mortal, after all…

…even Madara, who had said that he wasn’t.

“Shisui?” she whispered, delirious. “It can’t be you… you have eyes now.” She smiled weakly.

“Eye,” I corrected her. “And yeah, it’s true. So do you, though, so…”

She smiled again. “It’s a pretty one.”

“So are yours.”

“No they aren’t,” she said with her characteristic bitterness.

I placed one finger in front of her lips to silence her, trying to ignore how blue they had gone. “You can say that now, when you’re injured,” I told her firmly. “But when you’re better, you’re not allowed to say bad things about yourself ever again.” She blinked, doubtful. “I mean it,” I insisted.

For just a fraction of a second, the fire was back in her eyes. “What are you going to do about it?” she challenged.

“I guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” I told her.


	18. It is Only an Ending

_**“** **We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over.” –Ray Bradbury** _

* * *

 

After Tenten’s condition had stabilized, Rin administered a mild tranquilizer. It was only enough to keep her from getting excited. The two medics were adamant that she stay out for a while.

After the enigmatic Tenten was subdued, however, it was time to face the music. There were a lot of questions that needed to be answered, and most of them were about me. I stood and left Tenten’s side, returning to the small mob of Leaf Village Shinobi, plus others.

“You’re really Shisui Uchiha, huh?” Naruto asked me. Despite the battle being over, his face was still serious. Most of the others just looked… tired.

I nodded. “I’m really Shisui,” I confirmed.

“Shisui was supposed to be dead,” Sasuke stated flatly.

I took a deep breath. I really hated talking about myself. “I have an ability that allows me to anchor Shadow Clones to the mortal plane,” I explained. “It’s called ‘Life Anchor,’ and it’s a type of fuinjutsu. The seal will only fade once the jutsu caster dies, or if the clone itself dies.” The faces around me were bobbing slowly, digesting my monologue and accepting it. “When I supposedly drowned, it was because I had Anchored a clone, then drowned him in the river.”

“Isn’t that… a kind of murder?” Sakura asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” I agreed. “It didn’t feel great, especially since it was technically me, but I needed to escape from the Leaf Village. Danzo Shimura had stolen my right eye.” A few sets of widened eyes confirmed my suspicion that most had not known that. “I was sure he’d want the left, too, so I gave it to Itachi and faked my death.”

The million-dollar question, asked by Obito. “Why not fake your death with the one eye and keep it?”

I smiled. “An excellent question. Itachi and I had been gathering information on the Uchiha Clan to decide for ourselves who was more guilty. We’d been working on it since we were children, before we were even genin. If I wasn’t in Konoha, I wouldn’t be any help, so I left him my eye. It was my way of saying ‘sorry I’m dumping you with the mess.’ It seems drastic, I know, but my Sharingan might have saved lives in the hands of Itachi. It wasn’t going to do me any good holed up in Mienai.”

“Mienai?” Kakashi asked.

“It’s a small village south of Konoha on the Naka,” I explained. “Before I’d left, though, Itachi and I had found a scroll in the tomb of Izuna Uchiha. It was a top secret mission, one that Fugaku had had a hand in. We were to grab the scroll and return it to Fugaku, but Itachi thought it might be more useful in our hands, and that it might be too dangerous in the hands of the Uchiha elders. We stole it for ourselves. But it didn’t say anything, we thought. Itachi gave it to me, because I had spent time in the Cryptanalysts’ company.”

“You disobeyed ANBU orders?” Kakashi asked, eyes wide.

I nodded. “Yes. Does it matter now? I’m a dead man and so is Itachi.” I grinned at him, but no one argued with me. “In Mienai, I decoded the scroll.” I opted not to hand it over, or even mention that I still had it. “There was a message there from Izuna intended for his beloved older brother, Madara. It explained how to break the Uchiha Curse of Hatred. All one had to do was sacrifice his body to bring back the life of another Uchiha. This self-sacrifice would reverse the cycle of hatred. He claimed, in the scroll, that the hand seals were taught to him by the Sage of the Six Paths himself as he lay close to death.”

“And you used that?” Guy asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I pressed, gesturing to Itachi. “I brought back Itachi.”

“But why?” Suigetsu asked. “Sasuke went through a whole lot of trouble to kill him, you know.” He crossed his arms and seemed to be pouting.

Sasuke had the grace to flush with embarrassment. I laughed. “Well, then this is awkward, isn’t it? Sasuke?”

He grimaced and turned away. “I didn’t know the full story then,” he defended.

“And what’s that then?” I asked, cupping a hand to my ear. He glared at me.

“You don’t have to, Shisui,” Itachi offered.

I frowned. “No, I want to. Let everyone know. You’re not a killer, and we’re going home—we’re ALL going home—in peace.”

All around the circle, eyes widened. Perhaps they hadn’t considered the ramifications of what I had done. There really hadn’t been time to explain, though. Would they be able to accept Itachi back into Konoha? The silence stretched.

Well, if they wouldn’t, too damned bad. Maybe we’d _all_ move to Mienai. 

Naruto had an opinion. “Well yeah, of course we’re all going home. We won. The war is over and Madara is dead, and Itachi is just as much a Leaf Village ninja as I am.” He jerked his thumb toward his forehead protector and fixed Itachi with a blue-eyed stare. “We’re going home. Sasuke has really missed you, Itachi.” The stare transformed into an easy smile. “And we’ve missed Sasuke. And,” he said, turning over his shoulder to share his smile with me, “it looks like Tenten might have missed you, too. We’ve all fought hard in this war, and no one here didn’t do his best.”

Sakura sniffed and crossed her arms. “Or ‘ _her’_ best.”

His smile slipped briefly. “Right! No one here didn’t do his _or her_ best!”

Sakura gritted her teeth and shut her eyes against the rising tide of irritation. “Jeez, idiot, it’s not like Tenten here didn’t just _decapitate_ a guy that totally _owned_ you or anything.” She glared at him.

Naruto laughed nervously and held his hands out to try to console her. “Sorry, sorry, Sakura! Tenten was awesome, and if it weren’t for you and Rin I’d totally be dead meat right now. Thank you!” He bowed in her direction.

I rubbed my neck and had to laugh, even if it was a serious time. Those two were bickering like a married couple. Were they… teammates? Nonetheless, Naruto had welcome Itachi back to Konoha with nothing more than a spirited speech, and no one had cut in to correct him. “Who is this guy?” I asked aloud to no one, incredulous.

“That,” said a cheerful new female voice from behind me, “is Naruto Uzumaki.” I watched as a pretty blonde lady in a green robe—with the largest rack I’d ever seen on a woman—strode up next to me. She gifted me with a friendly smile and lay a hand upon my shoulder. “And he’s the Sixth Hokage of the Village Hidden in the Leaves.”

It amused me that the only reaction of surprise came from Naruto. “What?! You really mean it, Granny Tsunade?!” He leapt into the air with a shout and a fist pump and proceeded to dance around the macabre scene—complete with pools of blood and semi-conscious Tenten—like a boy of only twelve instead of a man grown. “Yay, yay, yay! I did it! I’ve finally become Hokage!”

Everyone gathered mostly ignored him to varying degrees. Sakura tried to hide her smile behind her hand, Sasuke frowned and looked away, Kakashi’s visible eye was crinkled as if smiling…

Tsunade turned her attention back to me. “Welcome back to Konoha, Shisui Uchiha,” she said warmly. She turned her gaze to Itachi, her smile extending outward to him. “And you, Itachi, Sasuke. Let’s go home.”

Rin stood between Kakashi and Obito, hands demurely clasped behind her back. “I don’t know,” she was saying quietly. “I just woke up, alive, and there was this old lady who knew the most incredible medical ninjutsu…”

I studied their faces, wanting to hear their stories. From what I could figure, the three used to be teammates, and had all three been separated. It felt good knowing that they could be together again.

Tsunade had an arm draped over Sakura’s shoulders. “You’ve really grown, Sakura,” she told her. “You handled Tenten very well, and Naruto, too. All reports from the battlefield say that you did an admirable job managing the medics’ camp.”

“Thank you,” Sakura replied meekly. “I think I’m getting better.”

Suigetsu laced his hands behind his head. “You know, Karin, if you really wanted to, perhaps we could stop in Konoha for a little while… maybe grab lunch?”

“In your dreams, Fishface,” she growled. Jugo laughed at the exchange. Suigetsu sighed with defeat.

Sasuke and Itachi were walking slowly, side by side, clearly exhausted by their ordeal. They shared the briefest of glances, and then I saw the fading sunlight glint on the tiniest of smirks on Sasuke’s face. He reached over and punched Itachi lightly in the arm. Itachi smirked, rubbing the spot in mock pain. Then, much to my entertainment, he reached over and punched Sasuke back… and laid him out in a cloud of settled ash with a yelp of surprise. Itachi laughed, and so did I, quietly.

I hoisted Tenten up, supporting her with my body. Unbidden, Guy stepped in and helped with the other side. What appeared to be his look alike had appeared on scene as well. His oddly intense stare grasped ahold of mine and he shut his eyes briefly. “Thank you, kind stranger, for caring so deeply for our Tenten,” he said quietly. “If there is anything that I can do to repay you, please just ask.”

“Uh, no problem?” I managed, giving him the thumbs up.

That was apparently a mistake. Both Guy and his body double flashed me a shiny grin and gave the thumbs up back. It looked rehearsed. “You know, kid, I think you’re alright,” Guy said to me. “At least we know Tenten will be in good hands!”

I wondered at what they were suggesting. But, as I shifted her slight weight on my shoulder and caught a glimpse of her delicate yet exhausted face, I felt relaxed. I found that whatever they might be suggesting was going to be just fine with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Rubs hands together*
> 
> How about that sequel?


End file.
